


Memorable Moments

by NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pain, Stabbing, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-12 13:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5667517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable/pseuds/NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The entire crew was gathered on the main deck, utterly silent as bloodthirsty eyes were trained on his trembling form. The Captain stood on the quarterdeck, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wheel, a slight smile playing at the edge of his mouth. </p><p>A darker version of events from the season 4 finale, with expanded scenes, hurt!Killian and a twist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not my world, not my characters. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.

The hatch above him opened suddenly, startling him awake.  Dim light streamed in from above, the only light he’d seen in days.  He squinted, looking up at the two large pirates who made their way down the ladder into the hold.  One took out a set of keys and set to work freeing his ankle from the chain that held him firmly imprisoned in the cramped lower section of the ship.

“Ge’ up,” grunted the other.  “Cap’n’s waitin’ on deck.”

Without a word, he slowly rolled over and got to his knees.  The pirates roughly grabbed his arms, hauling him to his feet.  They half-supported, half-dragged his body through the hatchway above and shoved him through, where he fell with a grunt.

He knew it would only be worse on the way back.

Fear suddenly washed through him in quick waves as he was pulled toward the next ladderway.  He knew what was to come, he knew it would be quick, but he couldn’t stop the twisting in his gut.  After spending the better part of the last three days locked below deck, he could barely see the steps of the ladder in the brilliant sunlight that streamed from above.  Legs shaking from both fear and hunger, he carefully climbed upward toward the light.

Once on deck, he wobbled briefly, the strong grip on each of his arms the only thing keeping him upright.  When he was able to see again, he looked around, though he knew the sight that would await him.  The entire crew was gathered on the main deck, utterly silent as bloodthirsty eyes were trained on his trembling form.  The Captain stood on the quarterdeck, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wheel, a slight smile playing at the edge of his mouth.

The pirate on his left grabbed hold of his shirt, roughly pulling it over his head.  The two of them dragged him to the mainmast and shoved him, face first, into the wood as they held his arms tight around the wooden beam.

_ Breathe _ , he reminded himself, feeling the shaking in his knees start to climb to his abdomen.  He squeezed his eyes shut as his arms were pulled just a little bit more to either side.   _ Just breathe, it’ll be over soon. _

“Well,” he heard the Captain begin, his tone light, almost playful.  “We all know why we’re here, don’t we?  This is a pirate ship and we all have to do our part.  On this ship, we follow orders - my orders.  Do we understand?” 

Twisting his neck against the force keeping him pinned in place, he opened his eyes briefly and looked back.  The Captain grinned at him smugly, then turned to the large man on the main deck. 

“Begin.”

The bosun stepped forward, unrolling the long cord of braided leather he held in his hand.

_ Just twelve _ , he reminded himself, breathing deeply as he closed his eyes again, turning back toward the wooden mast.   _ Twelve, and then it’s over. _

A loud crack resonated across the ship as a line of fire seared into his back.  He clenched his jaw, eyes squeezed shut against the flash of pain, determined to stay silent this time.  “One,” counted the Captain. 

Another crack, more fire.  He hissed inwardly, every muscle clenching, his neck arching slightly.  “Two.”

A third.  A grunt of pain.  Nothing more, he would give them nothing more than that.  “Three.”

Again.  He barely bit back the cry that time.  He pressed his lips tighter in anticipation.  “Four.”

Another blow.   _ Slow breaths.   _ “Five.”

And another.   _ Halfway there.  Just hold on. _  “Six.”

And another.  He could already feel the hot trails of blood running down his back.  “Seven.” 

Crack.   _ Breathe! _  “Eight.” 

The next one came at a different angle, crossing lines already cut in his flesh.  This time, he couldn’t hold back, crying out as the pain overtook him.  As he drew in a ragged breath, he could hear the smile in the Captain’s voice.  “Nine.”

Again.  He screamed, not bothering to hold back his pain back any longer.  “Ten.”

Again.  He had already broken, years ago.  “Eleven.”

Last one.  Why keep playing the game, pretending he was stronger than he really was?  “Twelve.” 

The Captain’s boots echoed on the wooden deck as he headed toward his cabin.  “Take him back to the hold until tomorrow.  And let that be a lesson to all you lazy bilge rats.”  The rest of the sailors scattered, the silence broken by the familiar sounds of a busy ship.

He sagged against the mast, breaths coming in short pants.  His back burned with each breath he took, fire raging from his waist to his neck.  The pressure on his arms eased, he collapsed to his knees, neck bent, exhausted.  He felt rough hands forcing his shirt over his head and arms, vaguely recalling how much he hated it when the blood dried to the fabric and plastered the cloth to his back, but he was too weak to do anything but allow his limbs to be manipulated.  A calloused hand pushed a well-worn canteen in his face.  Trembling, he reached up and took a long drink, the cool water running down the sides of his neck as he tried to swallow as much as he could before it was wrenched from his grasp. 

The same two pirates grasped his upper arms again and hauled him to his feet.  He groaned softly, darkness hovering around the edges of his vision, as they pushed him back down the ladderway and toward the hold opening.  He didn’t remember climbing down the second ladder, just the sudden impact with the floor as he tried to land on his side, his stomach, anywhere but his freshly battered back.  He felt the coolness of the hull against his cheek, contrasting with the heat radiating from his painful wounds.  Dimly, he could feel the chain being refastened around his leg, hear the men climb back up the ladder, and the slam of the door behind them.

Only then did Killian Jones allowed himself to slip fully into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not my world, not my characters. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.

Killian’s knees ached as he scrubbed yet another section of the quarterdeck of the Jolly Roger.  His back burned with each stretch of his muscles.  He’d been given some time to tend his wounds after being let out of the hold this morning, but there wasn’t much he was able to do one handed.  He haphazardly wrapped a strip of cloth around his torso as the ship pulled into port.  The rest of the crew was given twenty-four-hour shore leave, the Captain was out restocking supplies, and he was left behind to watch the ship and tasked with swabbing her decks.  At least he had managed to grab a small amount of cheese and bread to calm his protesting stomach before the stores were fully depleted.

Now alone, on his hand and knees, he desperately tried to finish the assigned job as fast as possible.  Captain Blackbeard was scheduled to return in an hour or so and he hadn’t even started on the foredeck.  He shuddered to think what would happen if he failed to finish on time.

The sound of footsteps on the gangway sent a shiver of fear up his spine.   _ He’s back early, _ he thought fearfully, beginning to tremble slightly.  Then a voice rang out, clear and very young.

“Ahoy!  Is anyone here?”

Killian stood quickly, wincing at the movement.  A young man stood on the deck, looking drastically out of place in clothing Killian had never seen before, in any land.

“Careful, boy,” he said, trying to keep the note of panic out of his voice, to convey some sort of authority to the lad.  “No one steps aboard the Jolly Roger’s decks without an invitation from its captain first.”

The boy regarded him for a moment with an air of familiarity Killian couldn’t help but find unsettling.  “Are you going to make me walk the plank?” the boy challenged.

Killian swallowed. __ “That all depends on why you’re here.”

“I need a ship to take me to the Bottomless Sea,” the boy replied without hesitation, as if he was used to giving orders aboard a pirate ship.

“Those are treacherous waters.  There must be something of great value there to be worth taking the risk.”   _ Why are you talking to this child? _ he admonished himself silently.   _ Just get him off the ship before Blackbeard returns! _

“Someone,” the boy corrected, handing over a slightly charred piece of paper.  A map.  “Her name is Emma.  She’s my mom, and she was put there by the queen.”

Killian glanced at the paper quickly and then handed it back to the boy.  There was no sense in leading the boy on.  Blackbeard would never agree to go on such a journey.  For all the youth’s confidence, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t envy the boy’s conviction and boldness, the Captain didn’t accept rescue missions, not unless there was an enormous sum of gold waiting at the end of the journey.

“Well then I’m sorry for you,” he said.  “Even if I wanted to, I can’t help you.”

The lad looked at him, confusion evident in his eyes.  “Why?  You’re a captain.  Can’t you take your ship wherever you want?” 

A raucous laugh rang out from behind the boy.  So engrossed in their conversation, Killian had failed to notice the large man approach the ship.  Killian’s breathing hitched as a knot of fear tied itself deep in his belly.  “A captain, is that who he says he is?” Blackbeard called out, a wide smile on his face.  His grin disappeared as he glared at Killian, who swallowed hard.  “I thought I told you to be done swabbing the decks when I return.”

Killian jumped back a step, a sharp flash of pain snaking its way up his wounded back.  “I’m sorry, Captain Blackbeard,” he stammered, all authority dissolving from his voice.  He hated how weak he sounded, how fearful, but he couldn’t risk another spell in the hold, not now, not before he had a chance to heal.  He turned away from Blackbeard, away from the boy, back to the task he hadn’t finished.   

“Wait, HE’S the captain?” the boy asked, incredulous.

Blackbeard answered loudly before Killian could respond.  “Indeed,” his voice boomed across the ship.  “Unless deckhand Hook wants to keep playing pretend.”  The larger man drew his sword as he looked past the boy to the trembling figure who wanted nothing more than to disappear from the conversation.  “What do you say, Hook?” Blackbeard offered.  Killian looked away, trying not to challenge the Captain.  He swallowed, or tried to, but his mouth was completely dry.  “Beat me, and the Jolly Roger is yours.  Or are you still a one-handed coward?”  He leveled his sword toward Killian, his gaze challenging, intimidating.  Killian blinked, then twisted away, scrambling back toward the deck, toward the familiar bucket and brush.

“What are you doing?” the boy hissed.  “Stand up to him!  You can beat him!”

_ Who IS this child?   _ “I’m afraid you don’t know me very well,” Killian muttered as he tried to return to his task.  He silently willed the boy to go, to just leave, to find another ship that could help him find his mother.  “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”  He didn’t risk a glance back, toward either the boy or his captain.

He vaguely heard a blade being drawn, the boy muttering something about “have to help you” and then a loud thump rang out on the deck.  He could feel the vibration in the floorboards under his knees.  He quickly got to his feet, frantically looking around the ship.  The Captain was lying on his back on the main deck, unconscious, a sword in the boy’s hand.  “What the bloody hell are you doing?” he exclaimed, panic lining the edges of his voice.

The boy calmly turned toward him, returning the sword to a scabbard that stood propped against the helm.  “Getting you your ship back.”   _ My ship? _  “Come on, let’s dump Blackbeard and go.”

Words escaped Killian’s mouth too fast, without breath, without wanting to think about what just happened.  “What, you think it’s that easy? I can’t sail the Jolly Roger alone!”   _ Alone.  Commandeer a ship.  Mutiny.  Hanging offense.  Oh, gods.  _  He could feel the nausea rising in his throat, choking him. 

The boy just looked at him, a ghost of a grin on his lips.  “I can help.”

He swallowed, forcing himself not to vomit.  “How do you know how to sail a ship?” Killian wondered out loud.   _ How did he know how to best Blackbeard?  Just who is this child? _

The boy smiled. 

“I had a great teacher,” he said.  “You.”

Killian just blinked, stunned into silence.  He tried to remember, tried to think back on all the years he’d been a crew member on this ship, first with Liam back when it was still the Jewel of the Realm, then under Blackbeard.  He couldn’t recall a single child who’d taken up residence with them, definitely not one with whom he’d spent any time.  What the hell was going on here?

The boy stuck out his hand.  “I’m Henry.”

Killian grasped Henry’s hand slowly, and shook gently.  “Killian.”

Another smile.

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the first five chapters ready. The rest should be up as soon as I have some uninterrupted time. Reviews and kudos make me want to write more *wink wink*.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not my world, not my characters. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.

They sailed for hours, following the map the boy provided.  Henry proved to be an able companion; he really did seem to know his way around the ship.  As thankful as he was for the assistance, Killian couldn’t help but wonder how this child seemed to know him so well, and yet not at all.  He wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the story.  The encounter with Blackbeard left him more than a little shaken up, he just needed to slow down and process what was happening.  He was still weak from his time in the brig, his back hurt, and he knew their mutiny would be discovered soon enough.  The consequences for  _ that _ were much worse than what he had already encountered.  Before he could fully control his nerves, he heard the boy call out.

“Look!”  Henry waved his arm toward the island in the distance.  “We found it!”

Killian took out his own spyglass and peered through the lens.  “There’s a black knight standing guard,” he replied cautiously.

Henry shrugged, dismissing that information as trivial.  “Only one,” he said.  “We could take him out.”

“Well, perhaps you hadn’t noticed, but I’m a deckhand, not a soldier.”  He managed to keep the fear from his voice, but he couldn’t stop the feeling of terror that took hold in his belly.

The boy cocked his head thoughtfully to the side.  “Then maybe we don’t need to fight.”

Henry quickly outlined his plan.  Even Killian had to admit that it had a greater chance of working than him taking up a sword against the dark guard.  He set to work making port at a small dock on the island, then he led Henry toward the towering prison, the boys arms loosely bound, a canvas sack over his head.

They entered the doorway of the building and walked a few paces until they came across the armed knight.

“I’m here on official business for the queen, delivering a dangerous prisoner from the kingdom of Kashyyk.” Killian stated, trying to remember the lines Henry had made him memorize, trying to sound nonchalant as the fluttering nerves in his stomach threatened to leap out his throat.  He’d never heard of such a place despite his years of travelling the realms, but he trusted Henry’s plan.  The boy definitely seemed to know what he was doing, that much was clear.

The guard reached out and removed the sack from Henry’s head without a word.  He bent forward to inspect the new “prisoner”.  Henry swiftly reached out, grabbed the sword strapped to Killian’s belt and raised it quickly, slamming the hilt into the guard’s helmet. 

Killian watched, amazed, as the knight collapsed backward on the stone floor, unconscious.  He smiled, the first genuine one what felt like years.  “Well done, lad!” he congratulated Henry, who slipped the rope from his wrists.

“The wookie prisoner gag.  It always works,” the boy said with a grin.

“The what?” Killian asked, confusion written across his face.

“Never mind,” Henry said with a laugh.  He bent down and retrieved the keys from the fallen guard.  He turned back to Killian.  “You lock the guard in the stow, I’ll be back with my mom as soon as I can.”  With that, he turned and ran off, leaving the bewildered pirate alone with the unconscious knight.

_ Well, this day can’t get any stranger _ , Killian thought, as he bent carefully to drag the guard off toward the nearest cell.  His back screamed in protest, and he was sure he could feel a few of the newly-healed cuts open, the warm blood seeping into the light bandage he had in place.  He tried to carefully lay the guard on the floor, but a flash of pain spasmed through him, and he unceremoniously dropped the sleeping body on the hard floor as he stiffened.  He rested his arm against the stone wall as he fought to get his breathing under control, his head bowed against his elbow.

It took a few minutes, but soon the pain was down to a level he could manage.  He groaned as he straightened up, then turned and went off to find Henry.

As Killian neared the place Henry had run off, a bright flash of sunshine crashed into him.

At least, that’s how it felt to him.

He looked down at the woman who was pressed against him, entirely closer than any woman had ever been with him.  Her blonde hair was flying in all directions as she gazed back up at him, her fingers lightly touching his vest, the corners of her mouth turned up in a knowing smile.  Her green eyes sparkled with recognition as she looked right into his eyes. 

He heard Henry’s introduction as if it came from leagues away.  “Killian, this is my mom.  Mom, Killian.”

He tried to answer, to say something.  “Uh,” he managed.  He coughed, shook his head to clear his thoughts, and tried again, this time reaching out his hand as the radiant woman in blue stepped back.  “Pleasure.”  The look of happiness in her eyes faded quickly, replaced by one of confusion, then disappointment.   _ Disappointed in me? _ thought Killian briefly.   _ Or that her rescuer would be such a coward? _

She reached up her hand tentatively and took his fingers gently, a look of determination settling onto her features.  “Yeah,” she said haltingly.  “Right.  We need to get going.”  She released his hand and turned toward the exit, Henry behind her.  “We’ve got a wedding to stop.”

Killian stood there for a moment, a faint trace of her warmth lingering on his fingers. 

_ What the hell just happened? _

He followed.

Quickly, the three made their way to the Jolly Roger, Killian and Henry tugging at the ropes and releasing the ties holding it to the small dock.  Killian gently coaxed the ship away from the tiny island, the woman – Emma, Henry had said earlier – watching his movements from beside him at the helm.  Once they were underway, she turned to him.

“Thank you for your help, Killian.”

A slow blush warmed his cheeks.  It wasn’t every day he was thanked by a beautiful woman.  Actually, it wasn’t  _ any  _ day.  Ever.

“Uh, yeah, of course,” he stammered.  “Um, I’m pleased you regained your, uh, your freedom.”  Gods, he sounded like an idiot, even to his own ears.  He tried to focus on the wheel, but her presence beside him was damned distracting.

“Me too,” Emma smiled.  A worried look crossed her face.  “Unfortunately, it’s not going to last unless you put some distance between that tower and us before the guard wakes up.”

“Why?” Killian asked, confused.

“Because that was not any ordinary black knight,” she explained, glancing back to the tower as it shrank in the distance.  “Her name is Lily, and she’s dangerous.”

Killian followed her gaze.  “I don’t understand.  What’s the problem with this Lily person-“

Just then, the tower exploded outward with a shower of stone.  A dragon burst from the building, its wings flapping as it circled the island.  Killian felt a surge of fear as he ducked down.   _ A dragon?  What next, an army of goblins?  _ he wondered, beginning to panic.   _ How the hell did I get involved in all this insanity? _

Emma turned and screamed to her son.  “Henry, get below, now!”

Killian didn’t turn to see if he complied, though he could vaguely hear the sound of the hatch closing over the roar of the dragon.  “I need you to load the cannon with the chain shot,” she commanded.  He was frozen in place, one hand half covering his head, his eyes glued to the beast howling on the tower roof.  “Come on, now!” Emma barked.  She moved closer to the center of the deck as he shakily hauled himself to his feet and began loading the cannon with a powder cartridge.  He maneuvered the chain shot into the barrel and rammed it down.  Lifting the linstock, he quickly lit the end of the slow match that was jammed into the end.

“Hold your fire till I tell you,” Emma shouted over her shoulder.  Killian crouched beside the cannon, the linstock shaking in his trembling grasp.  He watched, captivated, as Emma focused on the large dragon that was now rapidly approaching the ship.

“Lily, over here!” Emma screamed, waving her hands toward the flying monster.  “Come on, Lily, come on!”  Killian could only watch, rooted in fear, as the beast flew closer and closer to the vessel, quickly gaining on them.

“NOW!” Emma cried.

Killian moved the edge of the match to the cannon’s touch hole, setting it off with a roar, the heavy artillery shooting backwards a couple of feet with the pressure of the explosion.  The chain shot flew through the air toward the dragon, striking it in the neck.  The dragon screamed in agony, writhing in midair, until it crashed down into the sea.

Emma laughed, and Killian couldn’t help grinning as the fear dissolved, relief flooding through him.  “Well, that was close,” he said, his voice strong despite the shaking from their near-encounter with certain death.

She turned back to him, her face lit with a broad smile.   _ Gods, so beautiful _ , he thought.  He briefly wondered what he had done to deserve spending time with such a woman.  He put down the smoking match and reached for his flask.  “Cheers, you did it.”  He took a quick sip then handed the container to her. 

Emma held onto the rigging for support and took the flask, her fingers lightly brushing his.  “We did it,” she corrected, and took a drink.  Her face crinkled in disgust.  “What is that?”

“It’s goat’s milk,” Killian replied shyly.

She looked at him as she handed back the drink.  “Where’s your rum?”

He tucked the flask back into his pocket.  “I’m allergic,” he admitted, “never touch the stuff.”

Emma’s face cleared with a look of understanding.  “Of course you are.”   _ What was that supposed to mean? _

“Can I ask you a question?” Killian asked hesitantly.  “You trusted me with your life just now.  Why?”

She looked at him, deeply into his eyes.  He had the same unsettling feeling he’d gotten when Henry regarded him earlier.  Like she knew more about him than she should.

“It’s complicated,” she finally replied.  “Might take a while.”

He nodded toward the empty ship, the vast sea around them.  “My schedule’s pretty clear.”

“Ok, let’s first work on your fighting skills.  Then we’ve got to help Regina stop that wedding.”

He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, but he couldn’t help the slight grin that crept its way to his lips.  “Alright.”

“I’ll go get Henry,” she said, as she released the rope near her head.  “Thank you, Killian.”

He nodded.  She walked past him, patting him on the back of his shoulder as she went by.

His world exploded suddenly in agony.  Pain ripped through him, white fire that shot out from her casual touch.  He gasped, falling to his knees, suddenly unable to draw breath.  He couldn’t hear anything, his racing pulse the only sound in his ears.  He didn’t see her glance in horror at the fresh blood on her fingers, barely felt her crouch beside him, didn’t register her touch on his arm. 

Everything was just pain.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not my world, not my characters. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.

“Killian?  Are you ok?”  Emma’s voice sounded panicked as she tightened her grip on his upper arm.  He tried to control his breathing, to get a hold on the pain that threatened to make him throw up, to answer her, but he couldn’t.  His back spasmed painfully as the fire from her innocent touch raced up and down his spine, sending involuntary shivers through his body.  Head bowed, he wheezed slightly, teeth clenched, eyes squeezed shut.  He could feel her beside him, her hand on his cheek, turning his head toward her.  He couldn’t look at her.

She waited, her grasp on his arm relaxing as she rubbed circles on his shoulder, thankfully staying clear of his back.  The pain eased slowly, the tight muscles of his back releasing as he sagged slightly in relief.  He let out a shuddering breath.

“You’re hurt, let me see,” she whispered gently.  “Let me help.”

Tears threatened the corners of his eyes.  He shook his head, blinking quickly.

“Not here,” he murmured.  Slowly he opened his eyes, looked at hers for a moment before he broke eye contact and looked away.  “Not in front of your boy.”

She looked around.  “Alright, crew’s quarters then.”  She reached out a hand.  “Can you stand?”

He nodded, pulling himself up slowly, back stiff.  Henry was just emerging from his hiding place below deck.  “Everything ok?” the boy called.

Emma turned to him.  “Yeah.  Killian was about to show me the food stores below.  You okay handling the helm?”  She glanced quickly at Killian, met his eyes briefly, then back to Henry.

“Sure!” he exclaimed enthusiastically, and ran over to the wheel.  “It’s the exact opposite bearing as the way here, right?”  Killian nodded to him.  “Exactly,” he managed to reply hoarsely.

Emma silently nudged him toward the ladderway.  He lifted the hatch and slowly, gingerly, made his way down the wooden steps.  He heard her call to her son, “we’ll be back in a bit,” before she followed him down.  He quickly led her to the quarters he shared with half the crew and busied himself getting supplies she might need.

_ Why am I letting her help me? _ he thought angrily, yanking clean strips of cloth from a satchel under his bunk.   _ I’m already a coward, now she’ll see me at my most vulnerable.  This beautiful, capable, woman, who shouldn’t have to bother with me, a damn... baby. _  He stood and turned, almost colliding with her a second time.  Blushing furiously, he handed her the cloths.

“Um, might need these, and, um,” he stammered, cheeks flaming.  “I’ll get water, I don’t –“

She put a hand on his arm.  “Killian,” she said quietly, looking up at him.  The look of concern never left her eyes, but there was something else, something more that he just couldn’t place.  She nodded toward a pitcher on the small desk.  “There’s water right there.  Just tell me that you’re ok.”

He swallowed, hard, his throat suddenly dry.  “I’ll be fine,” he whispered.  “Nothing I haven’t survived before.”  She nodded, then turned toward the tabletop and busied herself pouring some water into a bowl nearby.  “It’s your back, right?  Can you take off your shirt?” she asked, looking up at him. 

He blushed again, looking down.  “Yes,” he managed. 

Killian began fumbling with the buttons of his vest, his fingers trembling.  He knew re-cleaning the wounds on his back was going to hurt, but the fear he felt was different than simple fear of pain.  He was… nervous.  Nervous to bare his shame to her, his weakness.  Never before had he felt so ashamed of who he was, of just how low he’d allowed himself to fall.  He used to be part of something, proud of what he had accomplished, with Liam and his crew, following regal orders, travelling the realms.  Then the capture by Blackbeard, when the crew was offered the choice to join the pirate captain or walk the plank.  He watched, frozen in terror, as Liam, brave Liam, refused to turn over his vessel to a lowly pirate.  He watched, frozen in horror, as Blackbeard ran his brother through with his cutlass.  He held Liam close as he breathed his last.  He had been so afraid to die, so afraid to stand up to the man who just killed his brother.  He joined, became a cabin boy once again, the ship’s whipping boy, and every trace of his once noble beginnings had long since disappeared.  And he had allowed it to happen, stuffed down all feelings of shame and regret, and became the coward he was today.

In all that time, in all those years, no one took an ounce of interest in him, except to ensure he was doing his job.  No one cared how he felt, no one tended his wounds after yet another public lashing.  He had been alone for so long, ignored for so long. 

And now, she was here, a woman radiating sunshine and strength, who just defeated a bloody dragon, who truly wanted to help him, to take care of him.  And now, all he wanted was to be strong for her, but he didn’t remember how.

His hand slipped just then, jarring him from his thoughts.  “Damn,” he cursed softly, as the button refused to slip into the hole.  Emma stood and walked the two steps to him, and put her hand gently on his shaking fingers.  “Let me help,” she said.  He lowered his hand and let out a breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding.

Quickly, deftly, she managed to open the buttons on his vest.  She carefully slipped it over his shoulders and down his arms.  He hissed as the thick fabric bumped the sensitive skin on his back.  “Sorry,” she murmured.  His vest removed, she helped him untuck his shirt and lifted it over his head.  Now free from his clothing from the waist up, she led him toward the long bench and guided him to sit at the edge, his back to her.

“What happened?” she said gently, carefully unwinding the blood and sweat soaked cloth from around his chest.  His hand gripped the bench tightly as she slowly peeled the fabric from his bloodied back.  “I hadn’t finished the day’s chores,” he answered in a whisper.  He grunted as she tugged a bit too hard, where blood had dried the bandage to the wound.  “It was the third time this week.”

He couldn’t see her face, couldn’t handle the thought of seeing pity in her bright green eyes.  “Three strikes and you’re out, eh?” she replied, her tone biting.  He wasn’t sure he understood, so he said nothing.  She finished removing the blood-stained cloth and tossed it to the floor.

“God, Killian, what did Gold do to you?”  She sighed.  He could feel her hand hovering over the deepest wounds on his back, so close he could feel the heat from her palm, but she didn’t touch him.

“Gold?” he wondered.  He twisted his head to look back at her.  “Who’s Gold?”

She picked up a scrap of clean cloth and dipped it in the bowl of water.  “It’s a long story.”

Killian turned away again, took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what he knew was coming.  “I’d appreciate the distraction,” he said, his voice wavering a bit.  “If you wouldn’t mind, that is.”

“I’ll try,” she said, her hand grasping his left shoulder, steadying him.  “Stay as still as you can.”

The cloth touched his skin and Killian immediately reacted.  His back arched, his body trying to escape from the blossoming pain, his fingers and hook digging into the wood of the bench as he let out a sharp gasp of pain.  He fought to stay still as she cleaned his back.  He knew she was being as gentle as she could, but he couldn’t stop his body from shifting away from her touch, or the low grunts of agony that escaped him.

“Gold is from my world,” Emma said softly, her voice even and soothing as she worked.  “Our world, really.  The real world.  He hates you, he blames you for destroying his life.”  Killian tried to block out the pain by listening to her voice, holding onto her words.  “He helped create this world, this version of reality, I guess you’d call it.  And he couldn’t help but use the opportunity to take revenge on you.”

“Revenge?”  Killian gasped sharply, twitching to the side slightly.  “What did I do?”

Emma sighed.  “His wife ran off with you,” she replied, continuing to dab at his raw back.  “About 300 years ago.”

Killian let out a quick laugh.  “That’s ridiculous.”

“What about the tattoo on your arm?”  Killian glanced down at the heart with 5 letters in it.   _ Milah _ .  He couldn’t quite remember exactly when he’d gotten it, but there had been a reason.  Hadn’t there?

“I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.”

Emma stopped wiping his back for a moment.  “Gold’s wife was Milah, Killian.”

He didn’t reply.

“Like I said, it’s a long story.”  She continued cleaning the long gash on his left shoulder blade.

He was quiet, as quiet as he could manage under her ministrations.  “I’m from this other reality?  And you?  Your boy?” he asked.

He felt her shift on the bench, reach to pour more water into the bowl.  “Yes,” she answered.  “Everyone.  This whole place isn’t real.”  He heard her dipping the cloth into the fresh water.  Sweat had broken out across his forehead and at his temples and he was sure the rest of his body was covered with a similar sheen.  He took her pause as an opportunity to try to catch his breath. 

He turned slightly, looking over his shoulder at her as she squeezed out the wet and bloodied cloth over the bowl.  “What about all my memories?”

She shrugged.  “Gold.  And the Author.  They were writing the new story together, I assume they created an interesting history for you.”  He started to turn back, then felt her hand again on his shoulder, her touch light but insisting.

“Killian,” she said softly, “Gold hates you.  He would have written something terrible for you, and for that I’m so sorry.”  She looked directly at him, her gaze gentle.  “But it’s not real.  None of it is.”

“My back?” he whispered.  “The wounds you’re cleaning?  Those aren’t real?”

Emma sighed.  “No, that’s real.  I think that must have happened after the story already started.”

He turned away from her again, readying himself for another round.

“What about the scars, from other lashings over the years?” he said quietly, words coming slowly from his lips.  “Did he create those, too?”

“No,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.  “He didn’t.  I can only assume you’ve had them from your pirating days.”

He nodded, but didn’t trust himself to speak.  He didn’t know what to say.  Killian Jones, whipping boy for Blackbeard, wished desperately that what she was saying was true, that he had a real life somewhere, with people who cared about him, who knew him and wanted him around.  But he couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that everything he remembered, everything he knew, wasn’t real.  He wished he had some proof, some way of knowing, besides the word of a boy and his mother who looked at him as if they knew so much more about him than he did. 

She finished cleaning the rest of his back and had him raise his arms so she could wrap another length of cloth around his torso.  He actually felt a little better, now that he was properly cleaned and freshly bandaged.  It was still odd, to have someone taking care of him.  Something he wouldn’t mind getting used to.

Emma stood suddenly, heading toward his satchel.  “You have a clean shirt in there?” she asked as she knelt beside it and began rummaging through the various articles within.  “Aye,” he said, turning in his seat on the bench.   She found another tunic and vest and tugged them out of the satchel, spilling a small pile of papers.  Killian blushed, and would have rushed over to gather them up had he been able to move that quickly.

She scooped them and straightened the pile.  Glancing at the top one, she looked at him, then back at the remainder of the pages.  Emma held up one of them.

“I didn’t know you could draw.”  She seemed genuinely surprised at his meager skill.  He looked at it, a sketch he had done months ago when they were marauding off the coast of Misthaven. 

A swan, floating on a lake.

He knew the rest of the pages held similar images, swans in flight, on the water, nesting on the shore.  Emma flipped through the pages again, a strange look in her eyes.

“Are you ok?” he said quietly.  “You seem… upset.”

She looked up at him quickly, shook her head, then replaced the papers in his satchel.  “I’m fine.”

She reached over and handed him the clean shirt and vest.  He slipped the shirt carefully over his head and struggled into the sleeves.

“Why swans?” she asked abruptly, turning to face him.

He tugged the vest down over his torso, grateful for the thick bandages that bound his chest and dulled the ache in his back.

“They’re loyal,” he answered shyly as he concentrated – probably too hard – on buttoning his vest.  “They don’t leave or run off.  And they don’t back down from a fight when they’re protecting their family.”  He finished the last button and looked up at her.  “And they’re beautiful.”

She blinked, then nodded and turned toward the doorway.  Killian could almost swear he saw tears in her eyes, though why a badly done sketch would make her cry was beyond him. 

“Henry’s probably wondering what’s taking so long,” she said, turning back to him, all trace of emotion now gone from her features.  “I’ll check for something to change into, raid the galley for some food, and then go up.  Are you ok to join us topside?”

Killian nodded, and watched her walk out.  He shook his head and stood, slowly making his way back up the ladder to the maindeck and the waiting lad whom he had taught to sail a pirate ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-divergence is coming, I promise. Be patient. And, while you're waiting, drop me a note, I love meeting new people!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not my world, not my characters. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.

They made good time getting back to the Enchanted Forest, with Henry at the helm the whole way, Killian making minor course corrections as they went.  Emma had found some spare clothes from one of the crew members and changed – a far more practical outfit, in his opinion.  She helped him on deck as well, adjusting ropes and sails as needed.  He was too stiff and sore to do major lifting and pulling but she seemed to sense when something would be too much for him and easily slipped in to take over.  They travelled mostly in silence and, though he still couldn’t control the blush that crept up to his ears when he was close to her, it was far from awkward.  Just the opposite – it was that eerie sort of familiarity that came along with spending time with Henry and his mother.

They made port and then went off in search of food, Henry complaining the loudest about his empty stomach.  Killian nervously scoured the harbour as they left the ship for signs of his former crew, certain they’d spot him and come after him for mutiny.  There was no sign of them, just the normal goings-on of the waterfront town. 

“I’m going to see if I can find something that looks like food,” Henry called as he ran ahead.  “I’ll be careful, I know,” he added quickly before Emma could answer.  She looked worried as he rounded a corner, but she slowly relaxed and smiled up at him.  “He’ll be fine,” she said, for him as much as for herself, he figured.  “A few hours in this place, he thinks he knows his way around.”

“I’m sure he’ll be alright,” Killian agreed, nervously fiddling with the uncomfortable sword belt around his waist.  She had handed it to him before they docked, saying they needed to practice his swordsmanship skills, get him up to par with his ‘other self’, whatever that meant.  He couldn’t seem to get the hang of moving with it, the sword banging against his legs as he walked and the weight felt so strange at his side. 

Emma stopped then and turned to face him, the people of the market paying them no mind as they hustled around them going about their business.  “Here’s as good a spot as any,” she smiled.  “Shall we begin?”

He gulped nervously, hoping she couldn’t hear how loud it sounded in his own ears.  His fingers twisted on the sword strapped to his body.  “So, you’re telling me,” he said shyly, “in this other reality, I’m an expert with such a weapon?”

She smiled, arms crossed over her chest.  “You’re a regular Jack Sparrow.”

“Is that good?” he asked.

Her grin widened.  “Here,” she said, stepping behind him.  “Let me show you how to use it.”

She reached around him and grasped his hand, her body right alongside his.  He couldn’t help the “oh” of surprise from leaving his lips as she pressed herself close to him.  In one smooth motion, she guided his arm as they drew the sword together, lifting it up and outward. 

“They say,” she said, her voice in his ear, breath hot against his neck, “once you become an expert –“ they lowered the sword together, her hand still wrapped tightly around his “– your subconscious takes over.“  She nudged his arm in an arc in front of them.  “Back in my world, that’s what we call muscle memory.”  She guided his hand once more and slid the sword slowly back into its sheath at his side.

He was intoxicated.  He hadn’t had a drop of rum in years, but he could remember the spinning in his head, the dizziness, the feeling of power, the rush of his blood racing through his veins.  This was the same.  He leaned back into her as the sword was returned to its place and closed his eyes, just breathing her in.  She was so close that he could smell her – old leather and cinnamon – and he didn’t want to break whatever spell she had certainly cast over him.  His throat was dry, but he had to ask, he had to know.

“Tell me more about this reality you want to return to,” he rasped.  “Us, for example. I sense that we, uh, we may be close.”  She pulled away, turning to face him.   _ Oh no,  _ he thought,  _ I’ve said the wrong thing. _  But she was smiling, in that sad, familiar sort of way he’d gotten used to over the last few hours. 

“Very.”

He laughed.  “Really?”  He couldn’t believe it.  Some version of himself, somewhere, was with this woman.  What on earth had he done to deserve her?  “Well, I’m starting to get jealous of the other me.”

Still smiling, she replied, “Let’s see what food Henry’s discovered.  I’m starving.”

Just then, the crash of metal footsteps sounded in his periphery.  He turned, quickly drawing the unfamiliar sword, as a handful of black knights and the Queen herself sauntered into the marketplace.  The villagers cleared out faster than he’d seen anyone move in a long time, and in seconds they were alone with the guards. 

The guard from the tower,  _ the dragon _ , drew her sword.  “There they are,” she indicated to the Queen.  “It was as I told you, my Queen.  The one-handed pirate was helping them, and the boy was with them as well.”

A short, angry-looking man jumped forward, his sword at the ready.  “Tell us where the child is hiding!”  In his fear, Killian dropped the sword, scurrying backward.  Emma stepped up at that moment, her sword swinging in the angry one’s face.

“Hey, back off, dwarf,” she shouted, “or I’ll change your name to Stumpy.”

Killian had never felt weaker.  Here was his chance, to protect the women who wanted him to help, to stand up for them, to use whatever meager skills he had acquired or could remember.  And he was hiding behind her, like a child, his sword on the ground at his feet.   _ What would Emma do? _ he wondered.   _ She’s strong _ , he thought.   _ Strong no matter what _ .  He inched forward, grabbing the fallen blade and readied it for whatever battle may come.

The Queen spoke, softly but with an air of command that silenced every noise around her.

“I know you,” she said, looking at the pair of them with such disdain he could almost feel her loathing.  “You’re Emma, the mad hag who was locked in the tower.  I almost didn’t recognize you out of your chains.”

“You’re the one that’s hard to recognize,” Emma answered, her voice suddenly filled with an emotion he couldn’t understand.  “Both of you.”  She indicated to the guard on the Queen’s right, the head of her black knight guards, her second in command.  “This isn’t who you are.”  Killian was surprised to hear a note of pleading in Emma’s voice.   _ Who are they to her _ , he wondered silently.

The Queen didn’t seem to know either.  “Tell me, who are we?” she asked.

Emma visibly swallowed hard.  “You’re my parents,” she said, her voice soft.  “I’m the product of your true love.  You taught me how to be a hero, how to believe in hope, and I do.  And now I need you to believe in it, too.”

The Queen’s expression changed then, from  disgust to almost compassion.   She replied just as softly as Emma, just as tenderly.  “You’re right.  Emma, hope is a very powerful thing.  Which is why I’m going to have to snuff it out of you and that awful son of yours.”  She straightened just then, all traces of care gone from her voice and posture.  “Kill them.”

_ This is it _ , Killian thought, nerves tingling almost painfully in his belly.  He held the sword tight, ready.

“Wait!” called the head of the guards.  “There he is.”

He pointed behind them.  Killian and Emma both turned to look as Henry –  _ oh, gods, no –  _ walked down the alley toward them.  He knew there was no way they could fight off all the guards, even together.  There were too many, and he was too inexperienced, regardless of what muscle memory she claimed he had. 

The Queen spoke, her smile filled with malice.  “My my, I am going to enjoy watching him die in front of his mother.”

Killian turned to Emma, to the first person who believed in him since his brother, who trusted him to be more than what he appeared.  He swallowed hard, tongue catching on his dry mouth.  “Save Henry,” he all but whispered to her. 

She looked up at him in surprise.  “Killian, you can’t beat them.”

_ I know.  I know I can’t.  But I can save you. _

“If I can help return things to how they were meant to be,” he said, his voice gaining strength as he spoke, “then what happens to me here won’t matter, will it?”  He could feel the change come over him, he knew he was now fighting for her and Henry, they were all that mattered, and he would do anything to protect that.  For the first time in a long time, he felt  _ purpose _ , he had something to fight for, and by the gods, he was going to fight.

He smiled, knowing it would probably be the last time he saw her, and said gently, “Now go, save your boy.”

Her eyes held the promise of a thousand thank you’s, though she didn’t say a word as she turned back to gather her son.  He took a deep breath, then kicked out quickly, knocking over the stand he had noticed earlier.  Heavy sandbags rained down on the guards, covering them in filth and incapacitating them. 

All but the lead knight.

The knight known as Charming spun his sword expertly as he circled closer, preparing to fight.  Killian didn’t stand a chance, he knew that, as he weakly held the sword in front of him, trying to force his body to remember what his mind could not. 

“Is she worth your life, pirate?” taunted the black knight.

He steeled himself, ready, no matter what happened.  “I’m willing to find out.”

The knight came at him quickly with a series of blows meant to scare him into dropping his weapon.  He blocked each one, somehow, gasping each time the metal blades rang together, the reverberations traveling up his arm uncomfortably.  He brought up his hook to block an attack, then used it to help swing the blade in a circle, leaving the knight’s face unprotected.  Without thinking, he lashed out with an elbow, cracking the black knight across the face.  The knight stumbled backward, his sword clattering uselessly to the ground beside him.

Shocked, Killian could only stand there, sword dipping to the ground.  “What do you know,” he whispered to himself.  “I’m a natural.”

He caught sight of the Queen moving around him.  He turned, blade raised once more, aimed at her neck.  Behind Her Majesty, he saw Emma and Henry standing, watching, worry evident on their faces.   _ Why hadn’t they left yet? _  “What about you, Your Majesty?” Killian asked, trying to determine the best course of action in dealing with the Queen.  “Shall I make quick work-“

Just then, ice  _ erupted _ in his back, catching his words in his throat.  He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, but he knew, he knew what happened.  The knight.  He could feel the blade of the dagger, no longer than a few inches, as it pierced through his chest.  A numbness was beginning to spread from his back outward, and he knew he didn’t have much time left.

As if underwater, he barely heard Emma cry out, “No!” but he couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t draw breath.  He could only watch as her face registered horror and surprise.  He wanted to tell her it was all right, he wanted to scream to her to get away, to get out of there, but nothing came.  He staggered backward, his own weight too much to hold up anymore, as he fell back against his attacker.  “I never did like pirates,” the black knight whispered in his ear.

Pain  _ exploded _ in him as the knight twisted the blade to one side and then yanked it from his back.  By now, the icy numbness had spread down his arms and legs, dark spots were filling his vision, and all he could see was her face as a tear slipped down her cheek.   _ Live, _ he wanted to shout to her.   _ Run from here and live. _  He felt himself slipping to the ground, blackness claiming the edges of his vision as he fell to the cobblestone, and then he knew no more.

______

_ The man and woman watched the scene from the shadows in horror. _

_ “That’s him, right?” she asked, anxiety written on her face. _

_ “Yeah,” he sighed.  “Wait a few minutes and then we’ll get him.  Maybe Whale…” _

_ She knew it wasn’t good, they needed him – both of them – alive if the plan was going to work.  But now, his body lying so still on the ground, they might have no plan after all. _

_ They watched as the blonde woman and her son quickly escaped the scene, chased by a fireball thrown by the Evil Queen.  The black knights were untangling themselves from beneath the wood and sand that had rained down on them a few minutes before.  Soon, they had gone, not a single knight remained, and not a single villager deemed it safe enough to come into the narrow alley.  It was quiet, silent, empty, save the dead man on the ground. _

_ “Get the wagon,” he said to her as he slipped from their hiding place toward him.  She ran around the corner and grabbed the small wooden wagon, that would have been just big enough to hide the three of them, and coaxed the horse to drag it back toward the two men.  He sat beside the still pirate, fingertips at his neck.  She could smell the blood, the sweat, the… wait. _

_ A wheeze.  She heard it, faintly, but it was definitely there.  “He’s trying to breathe,” she whispered excitedly.  He nodded, expression grim.  “He’s alive, for now,” he replied, positioning the wagon closer.  “But we have to move quickly.  He won’t be for long.” _

_ Together, they dragged his still body gently onto the bed of the wagon.  She thought he woke at some point, his hand opening and closing reflexively, but he made no sound, his eyes remained closed.  The man climbed up to the top of the wagon and held the reins, urging the horses onward, toward his home. _

_ She stayed beside him as he lay unconscious on the light wood.  She kept one hand on his back and put pressure on the wound, ignoring the feeling of warm blood that slipped between her fingers as she tried to stop the bleeding. Her other hand rested on his arm, listening, feeling, as he struggled to draw breath.  Each time he paused, she could feel her heart stop for a moment, waiting until he managed to pull in another agonizingly shallow breath.  “Hold on,” she whispered.  “Please don’t die.  We need you.” _

_ They drove away from the docks, back toward the Enchanted Forest. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-divergence is coming. As is pain. You have been warned. I'm not a fan of needless tragedy, so if you're worried about the ending, trust me. Things'll go a lot smoother if you do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've left canon to play in different streams of possibility. From here, on, is all mine. Fair warning: a good bit of pain, whump, characters being hurt/injured is on the way, so if that bothers you, please don't read it. There are also some brief thoughts of suicide, but nothing happens, I promise. There's a heaping dose of comfort to balance out the pain, don't worry. Thanks for sticking with me, and remember, reviews make my happy and happy writers write better, so... *hint hint*
> 
> Disclaimer: Not my world, not my characters. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.

Killian awoke slowly, the roar of the ocean filling his ears. He could hear a bubbling sound as the waves crashed against the sides of the Jolly Roger, and it sounded…

Wrong.

The gurgling was too regular, too predictable a pattern to be the ship he knew so well. Almost like… breathing. But why was it wet? _And where am I?_ Working harder than he should have had to, he managed to open his eyes, but the dim light burned. He let his eyelids fall closed and just listened to the wrongness of the ocean.

Slowly, his other senses started to return, slipping into his consciousness one by one. He could feel the soft mattress pressed against his cheek, the cool bite of air across his exposed torso. There was a crushing feeling of a hand pushing hard against his back, pinning him to the bed; a flash of panic as he struggled to draw a breath through lungs that didn't seem to work, the taste of hot metal in his mouth, a wetness that dripped from his lips. The icy chill that seemed to spread from the middle of his back that contrasted sharply with the heated sweat that stood out on his face and the damp coolness of a wet cloth against his forehead, mopping it up.

Unfamiliar voices filtered in, fragments that made no sense, from people he didn't recognize.

"... to stop the bleeding..."

"Where's Whale? He should have been..."

"... more bandages, there's too much ..."

"... ssh, it's ok, just breathe, please!"

 _The sound isn't the ocean,_ he realized in alarm. It was the sound of his pulse, rushing through his ears, as he slowly drowned in his own blood.

He couldn't pull in enough air. He could feel his fingers twitching against the sheets, clawing at them in his desperate attempt to breathe. It hurt, every movement of his chest sent shocks of ice through his back. He didn't remember _why_ he hurt so much, all he could remember was the lashing, and it never had been like this before. He wanted to cry out, to scream, but he had no strength for either. A tear leaked from the corner of his eye and ran down his nose as he concentrated on breathing.

Sleep, eternal rest, grabbed relentlessly at him, trying to pull him under with each pause in his breathing. Each gasp of air he managed to pull in his battered lungs pushed the darkness farther away, but it hovered, always there, on the edges of his consciousness. He didn't want to fight anymore, he didn't want to hurt so much. _Stop_ , he thought, _just stop, it's not worth it._ He wanted so badly to rest, to just give in. The blackness clawed at him again, and this time he was ready to let go.

Small fingers touched his just then, wrapping around his hand and squeezing him gently. He tightened his fist around it as best as he could and pulled his eyes open. A young girl sat near his face, her hand held limply in his weak grasp.

"He's awake," she said, looking up to the man next to her, the man he could only assume was responsible for pushing on his wound. Killian sucked in another gasping breath, the darkness receding once more.

"Good," he replied. "Try to get him to keep breathing, I need to keep pressure here. Red!" he called out suddenly.

At the edges of his vision, Killian saw a woman step into the doorway, red cape wrapped around her shoulders. "Whale's on his way, Jefferson," she said as she dropped an armful of bandages at the end of the bed before rushing from the room.

The girl squeezed his hand again, and placed her other palm on his cheek. "Please, you have to breathe," she whispered, brushing his sweat-soaked hair from his eyes. Her brown eyes glittered in the low light. "Please. We need you."

_They need me?_

He had no idea who these people were, or why they'd want to save him, but at that moment, this child anxious for him to live was just the push he needed. He swallowed hard, tasting the blood that oozed into his mouth from somewhere down his throat, and shakily gasped in another mouthful of air. The pain was incredible, his entire chest screaming in agony, but he forced the air back out and breathed in again, clenching her hand as tightly as he could. The darkness pulled back even further from his vision. It wasn't much, it wasn't nearly enough, but it was a start.

Just then, the door to the room burst open. A white-haired man walked in, a sack in his hand. "Do you have any idea the kind of healthcare equipment available in this 18th century mudhole?" he said as he quickly came over to the bed. He rummaged through his bag a moment, pulling out a blue vial. "This was the only thing I could find that might be of some help right now, but there are only a few drops left." Killian grunted in pain as the new stranger's hands touched lightly across his back. "Let me see the wound," he said.

The man - _Jefferson?_ \- released his hands from Killian's back and stepped away, tossing a blood-soaked rag onto the floor on a small pile of black fabric - the remnants of his shirt, he supposed - and more bloody strips of cloth.

 _My blood_ , Killian thought in horror.

In a flash, he _remembered,_ he could feel the black knight's dagger slamming into his ribs as… _Emma…_ The young girl tugged at his hand, reminding him to breathe again. Without the pressure of Jefferson leaning on him it was easier, but just as painful.

_Emma, where are you?_

He felt the white-haired man gently probing the stab wound, he could feel the movement of skin against muscle as he tried to shift away from the blossoming agony. "Hold still," murmured the child, running her hand across his cheek. The man put his ear against his back, tapping lightly at his ribs, listening as Killian pulled in painfully slow gasps.

"Whale?" Jefferson asked from behind him. "Will it work?"

Whale nodded, uncorking the small bottle. "It should. But I wasn't expecting so much damage. His lung is punctured, he's bleeding into his chest. The internal damage alone could kill him, not to mention these gashes that haven't healed yet, and I have no idea how effective these Middle Ages potions are." He held out the vial. "What I wouldn't give for a normal operating room," he muttered as he spilled the contents into the wound.

Killian could feel the liquid dripping into the hole in his back, running deeper and deeper into his chest, setting of what felt like an explosion in his lungs. He cried out sharply, clawing desperately at the girl's hand, neck arched off the bed, as the sheer sensation overwhelmed his every nerve. The girl was gripping his fingers, saying something, but he couldn't hear anything over the fire that was shooting through him.

It stopped just as suddenly. He sagged back onto the mattress with a huff, energy spent, sleep pulling at his eyelids.

But he could breathe. Not deeply, definitely not painlessly, but there was more air going in each time than before. He could feel some of the darkness dissipating as the oxygen slowly filled his lungs. He still gasped, still struggled with each breath he took, but not nearly as much. He coughed, spitting some of the fluid from his mouth onto the already bloodied sheets.

Whale grabbed a cloth and quickly wiped his lips, looking at the blood Killian had just expelled. "Better," he said, nodding. "It's not as thick as before." He put down the rag and replaced his ear on Killian's back, tapping again at his chest. "Lung sounds are better too. Not great, but I think he'll be ok."

Whale leaned over and looked right at Killian.

"It's easier to breathe, right?" he asked.

Killian couldn't answer, he just squeezed the girl's hand weakly and blinked slowly.

Whale grinned. "I'll take that as a yes. Let's get you cleaned up and we'll get you off your stomach, you'll be breathing even easier." Killian blinked again, too exhausted to do more.

Jefferson came forward and peered at his back. "It's still going to need sutures though," he said quietly. "The potion only took care of the internal injuries."

The white-haired man had pulled out another vial, yellow this time, and uncorked it, sniffing at the contents. "Yeah, I know. Except I can't do that while he's awake, the pain alone will finish him." He grabbed a clean bandage from the pile and tipped some of the liquid on the cloth.

Killian saw his hand coming closer, but he couldn't move, couldn't escape as the cloth was clamped firmly over his mouth and nose. He wanted to struggle, wanted to fight the feeling of suffocation, but he had no strength remaining. _Why?_ he wondered frantically. _Why kill me now?_ He breathed in the sticky-sweet smell, panic in his eyes. After a moment, the darkness he'd been fighting against with all his strength reached out and wrapped around him, pulling him under as he passed out.

* * *

_Whale dropped the moist cloth to the ground and leaned back on his heels, wiping the back of his bloodied hand across the sweat on his forehead. The crude form of chloroform had worked quickly, and he was sure the pirate had enough strength now to keep breathing even sedated, but he was still anxious. This was the only chance they had, ever since those damned bells went off earlier. He watched Hook for a moment, measuring the rasping breaths he was managing without as much effort as before. It would have to be enough._

_The signs of a recent beating had thrown him off. The man had clearly been whipped, and not much more than a day ago, the raw stripes cut into his back were barely scabbed over, surrounded by a fair amount of bruising. The effect on his recovery would be noticeable, he knew, as the greater damage would be hell on his healing time._

_When Ruby- no, Red now - had come running to him and said Hook had been stabbed, he had anticipated puncture wounds as he rummaged through the basic supplies that filled his newly acquired hut. Thanks to the Author, he was set up in this world as the village medicine man, but being denied 21st-century surgical equipment made the job so much more difficult. He guessed at half the things on the shelves, grabbing the nearly empty blue vial marked 'Healing Potion' at the last moment. And he was glad he did - without modern medicine, that was the only thing that could have healed the pirate quickly enough for him to survive._

_He still couldn't figure out why he and Jefferson had all their memories when everyone around them had been fully immersed in their new lives. Even Jefferson's daughter, Grace, who sat beside the still pirate wiping at his sweaty brow, had no recollection of her life in Storybrooke. He supposed it was because he wasn't actually from the Enchanted Forest, so there was no identity for him to resume, and Jefferson… well, once cursed to remember, always cursed._

" _You need help stitching him up?" Jefferson asked, pulling him from his thoughts._

_He shook his head and stood. "I think I'll be ok from here. You have to go, or you'll miss them."_

_The younger man nodded and turned to his daughter. "Grace, I'll be back as soon as I can," he said gently, patting her shoulder._

_Grace smiled, still holding Hook's hand. "I know, Papa. Hurry. I'll be fine here with Red."_

" _I'm sure you will, sweetheart," he murmured and kissed her head. "Bye." He turned and left the room. Whale could hear him packing up a bag of food from the kitchen before leaving the house._

_Red walked in just then, carrying a chair from across the room._

" _I thought you might want this," she said softly. "I can help, if you need." She paused and bit her lip, eyeing the man asleep on the bed warily. "Is he going to be ok?"_

" _I hope so," said Whale as he pulled out a rudimentary sewing kit from his bag. He reached for the jug of whatever passed for whiskey around here, hoping it would be enough to sterilize the needle he held in his hand. "I really hope so."_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in a week, just for you guys. Fair warning: a good bit of pain, whump, characters being hurt/injured is on the way, so if that bothers you, please don't read it. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Not my world, not my characters. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.

Pressure on his hand was the first thing he felt as he drifted toward consciousness.  Someone else’s fingers, wrapped around his, squeezing gently.  

Gradually, Killian opened his eyes.

It was night, if the window in the wall across from him was any indication.  And he was alive.  A lantern somewhere in the room emitted a soft glow and he could just make out the shapes around him.  The girl from earlier held his hand in hers as he lay on his side on the bed, he could feel a bandage wrapped securely around his middle.  Breathing still hurt, a lot, but it was less painful than before.

“Hey,” the girl smiled.  “You’re up.”

He tried to respond, to shape the words with his lips and force the air through to give them sound, but he was still so tired.  He had no idea how long he’d been asleep, but clearly it hadn’t been enough.

“Don’t try to talk,” another voice said, walking around the bed from the other side of the room.  The woman with the cape, Red.  “Save your strength.  Whale said you’d probably be pretty weak for a while.”  She leaned over the girl.  “I’ll go let him know Hook’s up, you’ll be ok for a few minutes?” she asked.  

The girl nodded, and Red smiled at Killian.  “It’s good to see you.  We weren’t sure you’d pull through at all.”  She flipped the hood up on her head as she went back around the bed and left the room.

Killian just lay there, concentrating on breathing in enough air.  It was definitely easier, but he felt suffocated, almost as if his left arm was crushing his chest.  He moved it forward a bit toward the edge of the bed, immediately noticing that his hook and brace were missing.

“Sorry about taking that off,” the girl said softly.  “We didn’t want you to stab yourself while you slept.  I hope you don’t mind.”  Any embarrassment he might have felt normally at his exposed stump was oddly absent now.  He’d never have taken it off in front of his old crew, but here, it didn’t seem to bother him.

“I’m Grace,” she continued.  “My father is Jefferson, he rescued you from the Queen, with Red.”

He managed to clench his fist slightly around her fingers, the only response he could manage.   _Thank you_ , he tried to say with his eyes.

“Do you want something to drink?” Grace asked.  “The healer left some teas that might help you feel better, I could-” he squeezed her hand again, interrupting her, this time managing a slight shake of his head.   _No_.  Just the thought of eating or drinking nauseated him, though he couldn't remember the last time he had a full meal.

“Ok, ok, no drink.”  The girl looked worried as she watched him.  “I just wish there was something I could do to help.”

Killian grasped her hand tighter.  She met his gaze as he looked at her, the words unable to come.   _Just stay_ , he wanted to tell her.  She smiled shyly.  “I’ll be right here,” she said, as if she heard his thoughts.  He managed to pull one side of his mouth up in a weak grin.

The door behind him opened just then and the white-haired healer stepped around the bed into his line of sight.  “Glad to see you awake,” Whale said with a smile.  “How are you doing?”

Grace answered for him.  “He can’t talk, and he didn’t want your tea.”

Whale laughed.  “I should be insulted, but it does taste pretty terrible.”  He reached out a hand and placed it on Killian’s forehead.  “No fever,” he said half to himself, “that’s a good sign.”

He moved around the bed behind Killian and gently peeled back the top of the bandage covering the stab wound.  Pain that had been muted since he woke up now came roaring back to life.  Killian’s breath caught in his throat as he squirmed away from his touch, eyes closed tightly.  “Sorry,” murmured the healer softly.  “Just checking the stitches.  So far, it looks good.”  He replaced the bandage, and Killian relaxed against the mattress, panting slightly as he fought to get his breathing back under control.  

Whale came back into view beside Grace.

“Tell me, Hook, is it easier to breathe like this?” he asked gently.

Killian shook his head.  It was easier than before, true, but he felt trapped lying on his side, his breaths coming more in short gasps than anything that resembled a normal rhythm.

“Would it be easier if you sat up a bit?” Whale asked.  “You’d have to lie against your back, and we can try to make it as soft as possible so it shouldn’t hurt too badly, but I think you’ll be breathing better that way.  Care to try it?”  Killian didn’t answer for a moment, as he weighed his options.  Pain he could handle, but this feeling of suffocating was so much worse.  He forced a nod to the healer.

“Ok,” Whale said as he stood.  “Red, can you bring some extra pillows?”  She smiled and left to find something soft.

Whale positioned himself behind Killian as Red brought the pillows and a couple of soft blankets.

He could feel his heart speed up, preparing for the worst.  In front of him, Grace held his hand tightly.  “I’m still here,” she said gently.  Whale’s arm slipped behind his neck and soon he could feel himself being lifted up, his head lolling against the healer’s arm.  He groaned, the movement pulling at every cut on his skin, as Red slipped the pillows and blanket behind him.  Whale lowered him against the stack of cushions.  Pain flared again as his back touched them; he arched backward and gasped as he willed his muscles to relax.  Slowly, ever so slowly, he felt his body sagging against the pile of pillows.

He was nearly upright now, propped to almost sitting.  The fire in his back was quickly fading to a more manageable ache.  And he could breathe!  It still took effort to keep his breaths even and slow, and they were more shallow than they should have been, but he was already feeling much better, the air coming easier to his lungs.

“How’s that?”  Whale asked as he pulled the covers up around Killian’s stomach.

He tried to say “better”, but settled instead for a nod.  He could already feel the heaviness of exhaustion pulling at his eyelids.  He couldn’t remember ever being so tired.  He blinked slowly, forcing his eyes back open.  Whale noticed.

“Sleep, don’t fight it.  You need to get a lot of rest,” he said as he stood.  Killian slowly turned his head to the right, to Grace who still sat beside him, and managed a lopsided grin, which she returned.  The lights in the room seemed to dim around him as he slipped back to sleep.

* * *

 

_Images flash through his mind as he sleeps, so vivid, so real, moving too quickly for him to understand, yet they keep coming, faster and faster, leaving him dizzy._

_Liam dying in his arms as he sobs for help._

_A beanstalk, miles above his head in the sky._

_Lying on the ground, his chest a mess of broken ribs, the rain and mud mingling with his blood_

_A portal whirling green on the open ocean, the Jolly Roger getting sucked into its outer reaches._

_The dense, hot jungle air sticking to his neck as he swings his sword toward an invisible attacker._

_His shadow being ripped from his body as he cries out._

_Shards of ice crashing from the air above him, aimed at his head._

_A hand plunging into his chest as he’s tied to a fence, and he's screaming in agony._

He woke with a start, gasping for air.  He couldn’t breathe, his chest rising and falling too fast, throat working too hard to suck in the oxygen that just wouldn’t come.  He grabbed at the bandages across his chest, frantically trying to loosen them, to open his lungs, but there was nothing, nothing…  

A hand grabbed his shoulder, his cheek, turning his face to the side.  His vision swam as he tried to see the face before him, the woman in red.  “Breathe, Killian!” she was calling.  But she was so far away, almost underwater, and he could barely hear her over the rushing waves of panic that crashed over him.  His mouth opened and closed as he desperately tried to suck in more air, but still nothing came.  “Breathe!” she was yelling.  She pounded briefly on his chest, once, twice, and he managed a short gasp of air, but no more came.  He let his eyes close, tears of exertion squeezing out from the corners.  

He felt a light slap on his cheek.  “Look at me,” he heard her say as she slapped him again.  “Look at me!”  He opened his eyes, forcing them to focus on her.  “Watch me, ok?” she said.  “Breathe with me.”  She reached a hand behind his neck, pulling his head off the pillows.

He tried, he really did, but it was too much, his throat refused to open.  Moisture tracked down his cheeks, tears mingling with the sweat that stood out on his face and neck.  Her other hand went to his chest again, rubbing circles on his tensed muscles as she tried to calm him. “Please, Hook,” she pleaded.  “Please, just breathe.”

The edges of his vision were starting to go dark, black spots dancing in front of his eyes as he struggled.  He gasped, a small amount of air going into his chest, but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t push it out again.  She shook his head a bit in her hand.  “Please,” she whispered again, her eyes filling with tears.  “Please.”

He forced himself to pull harder as he gasped again, oxygen finally filling his lungs, and he felt his body finally, finally relaxing somewhat.  He released his breath with a sob.  It hurt, everything hurt again, especially this torture.  Another breath, another stab in the center of his chest, and he let it out again.  “Good, that’s good,” she was saying, as if from somewhere much farther than right beside him.  “Keep going, Hook, you can do it.”

Dimly he noticed Whale rushing into the room behind her, Grace pulling him forward.  He closed his eyes, just trying to breathe.  Little by little, Killian’s muscles unclenched, his chest rising and falling at a less frantic pace than before.  Red laid his head back as she wiped the tears and sweat from his face with a clean cloth.  He was completely drained, he barely had the energy to keep his eyes focused.

“You did it,” she said softly, a shaky smile on her lips, her eyes still bright in the dim lantern light.

Whale put his fingers to his neck as he slipped beside Red.  “Pretty sure that was what we call a panic attack,” he said gently.  Killian could feel the exhaustion taking hold in every part of him, and he had a hard time paying attention  to what was going on.   _So tired._

“He was sleeping,” Red told him, “and then he just stopped breathing.  It was so sudden.”

“Nightmare set it off, probably,” Whale said.  Killian flicked his gaze to the healer, who understood and nodded.  It had been a nightmare, but it felt so _real_ , almost like... a memory.  Except now, after all the excitement, he found he couldn’t remember a single image from his dreams.  

He felt Grace take his hand from the other side of the bed, pulling it toward her.  He could feel her squeezing his palm, his fingers, with both of hers.  With all the energy he had left, he managed to turn his head toward her as she held his larger hand with both of her small ones, tears streaming down her cheeks.   _Don't cry_ , he wanted to say.  He wanted to tell her it was ok, he was all right now, he wanted to grip her hand tightly and comfort her, but he had no strength this time, his fingers limp against her touch.  He heard Whale and Red talking, about taking turns watching him while he slept, but he couldn’t bring himself to pay attention.  

Grace looked up at him.  “We need you, Killian,” she whispered.  “You’re our only hope.”

 _Why? Why do they care?_ he wondered sleepily.He wished he could ask, but he already felt himself falling back asleep.  He drifted off, her hands still holding his, hoping that this time there would be no dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise better things are coming for our poor pirate, I'm working on updating as soon as possible so as not to leave you hanging for too long. Reviews and comments are the life force that fuels more chapters so if you'd like to know what happens, send me a note!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just getting up to my favourite parts! Thank you all for sticking with me, I'm really overwhelmed by your responses.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not my world, not my characters. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.

Killian woke slowly, bright light streaming through the window into the room.  He tried to stretch his legs but quickly changed his mind as the movement pulled at his sore back.  He marveled at how much easier it was to breathe; with just minimal effort he was managing shallow but regular breaths.  He was still sore, still so weak, but nowhere near as close to death as he knew he’d come just hours before.  He looked around the room, head resting on the mountain of pillows behind him as he took in his surroundings in the daylight.

It was smaller than he thought, the dim light the night before lending shadows and deep corners where there were none.  A chair sat empty in the corner on his left, the door beside it stood open, leading to what smelled like a kitchen area.  A short chest of drawers was directly to his left, his hook and brace atop it next to a pile of clean folded cloths.  On the other side, he saw Grace asleep in a chair, her head resting on folded arms on the bed beside him, and he couldn’t help the grin that crossed his face at the sight of her.

She stirred just then, as if sensing he was awake.  She rubbed her eyes slowly before looking at him as a smile broke out on her face, lighting up her eyes.

“Hey!” she said happily.  “How are you feeling?”

He wasn’t sure he had the strength to concentrate on breathing and talking, so he just smiled and nodded slightly.

“Great!” she exclaimed.  “Do you want that tea now?”  Killian made a face and shook his head a bit.  He still had no appetite.  He knew he needed to eat at some point, that fluids would probably be a good idea, but he wasn’t interested right now.  She laughed at his expression, the happiest sound he’d heard in a long time.

“Is he up?” Red’s voice asked from the doorway.  Killian turned his head toward her as she stepped into the room.

“Well,” she said, “look who’s got some of his color back.”  She motioned toward the kitchen.  “Grace, I’ve got some porridge on the fire if you want any.”  He watched as the girl stood and went around the bed to the other room.  “None for you yet, Killian, sorry” Red continued.  “Whale wants to keep you off solid food for a couple of days, unless you think you could manage some soup?”  He shook his head again, minus the cringe this time.  She shrugged and smiled.  “Maybe later then, if you’re up for it.”  Grace came back into the room just then, a steaming bowl in her hands.

“You do look a lot better, Hook,” Red said seriously.  “I truly hope this plan works.”

 _The plan again_ , he thought.   _What is going on that they need me so badly?_  His bewilderment must have been obvious because Red sighed.  “Jefferson will explain it when he gets back, it was his idea.  Well, his and Whale's, since they’re the only ones who remember.”

She smelled the air just then, a look of horror crossing her face.  “My porridge!” she cried.  She hurriedly ran from the room as Grace let out a laugh in her chair beside him.  “She’s always doing that,” the girl said with a grin, holding a spoonful of cereal.  “She never remembers to pay attention to it once it’s already cooked.”

He rested against the pillows as Grace ate her breakfast, grateful for the quiet and calm he hadn’t felt in... years, probably.  Sure, he was so weak he couldn’t even speak, and his back was torn up to the extent that he was afraid to see what it looked like, but right now, sitting propped up in the peaceful cottage in the woods, it was almost... relaxing.  He was just about to drift off when Grace jumped up suddenly, startling him awake.

“He’s back!” she exclaimed as she bolted from the room.  Killian couldn't help smiling at her enthusiasm. He listened carefully and, sure enough, he could hear the familiar sounds of a horse pulling a wagon.   _Jefferson,_ he assumed.   _Finally_ , _some answers._

He heard the door slam as Grace ran out, yelling, “Papa!” somewhere outside.  The wagon stopped and soon he heard the front door open again as footsteps headed to the room in which he lay.

Grace was pulling someone by the hand.  Someone he knew, someone whose simple presence in the room took what was left of his breath away.

“Emma,” he whispered.

 _How?_ He didn’t understand, couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that she was standing right across from him.   _How is she here?  Why?_

She looked just as startled as he felt, her eyes filling with tears.  

“Killian,” she said softly. “It’s true, you’re alive.”  She came over to the bed and sat beside him, touching his arm, his chest, his face.  “You’re alive,” she repeated softly, the tears spilling over onto her cheeks.   _She’s here, she’s really here._

He glanced up at the other two figures who stepped into the doorway.  Jefferson.  And Henry.  The boy gave him a quick grin, but there was a deeper sadness to it, the smile not quite reaching his eyes.  Something happened, something bad.

He looked back to Emma.  “How-” he managed to rasp weakly, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

She laughed, a quick sob escaping her lips.  “I was about to ask you first,” she said as she ran her fingers down the unshaved stubble along his cheek.  “I was so sure you were dead, we _saw_ you die.  But you're here.”

Killian wanted to ask so many things, but he couldn’t get his voice to cooperate.  “I know, you want to know what happened, and I promise I’ll explain everything,” she said, smiling sadly, still cupping his face in her hand.  “But first, let’s go home.”

She leaned forward just then and pressed her lips to his, surprising him.  He panicked at first, as her touch sent a shock of lightning through his entire body, but gradually he felt his mouth warming to hers as the kiss deepened.  Killian couldn't remember ever kissing anyone like this but, as he closed his eyes, he just _knew_ , his lips moving in sync with hers as she pushed against him.  Her fingers threaded through his scalp, weaving through the short hair at the back of his neck.

It felt so _good_ that he forgot to breathe.

After a moment, she pulled back, her hand still tangled in his hair.  He looked up at her, his lips tingling as he gasped.  

She was crying, and not the same kind of tears she had shed just moments before.  Something was wrong, she looked… heartbroken.

“It didn’t work,” she whispered, shaking her head, tears falling to her lap.  “It didn’t work.  I’m such an idiot.”

Before he could say anything, before he could reach for her, she stood and ran from the room, Henry following close behind her.

And he still couldn't breathe.

Killian felt the familiar surge of panic as he gasped silently but, just as before, the much-needed air wasn’t was coming through to his chest. Grace noticed immediately; she ran to him and patted his arm frantically.  “Killian?” she asked, fear in her gaze. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force his body to relax.

_Not again, please not again._

“Papa!” Grace yelled as she shook his shoulder. “Red!”

He heard more footsteps as others rushed into the room. He couldn't do it, he had no strength to fight so hard again. He felt his body struggling against whatever invisible pressure constricted his throat and lungs, but he felt detached, as if he was leagues away.

Fingers grabbed at his face, his neck, pulling him off the pillows.  He felt his forehead come to rest against someone else's, a hand covering the center of his chest, just above the bandages wrapped around him.

“Breathe for me, Killian,” Emma whispered, her nose pressed against his.

He opened his eyes, watching her as his vision swam with tears.   _Emma._  Her hand tapped insistently against the tensed muscles of his midsection. His own hand flew up to cover hers, grasping her fingers tightly.  “Please,” she pleaded.  “I can’t lose you again.”  His eyes fell closed as he leaned his head heavily against hers.

He tried, he really tried to gasp in a breath but no matter how he fought, the air didn’t seem to reach his burning lungs.  Sweat stood out on his skin, his mouth opening and closing uselessly as he pulled with everything he had.  

He wheezed, his airway opening slightly, just for a moment.  But it was all he needed.  Again, another gasp of air flooding his lungs.  Emma’s hand, covered by his own, stayed firm on his chest.  Again, another rush of air finally going in his chest.  As the roaring pulse in his ears quieted, he realized she was whispering softly, the same quiet words over and over.

“Don’t leave me, Killian.  Don’t leave me.”

He felt his body relaxing, his breaths no longer taking so much of his strength.  He sagged against Emma, energy spent, her hand pushing against him, holding him upright.  His eyes opened on their own; he was too tired to keep them closed.  “Stay with me,” she murmured, her breath mingling with his.

“Emma,” he breathed between pants.  “Emma.”

“I’m here,” she whispered.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

She held him for another moment as his breathing evened out.  Slowly, gently, she lowered him back on the pillows.  He was exhausted, weariness weighing down his eyelids as he blinked groggily, the only movement he could manage anymore.  

Her hand lay softly on his chest as he fell asleep, his fingers still wrapped around hers.

* * *

 

_Emma grabbed a cloth from the stack beside the bed and began dabbing the sweat from Killian’s face and neck.  What the hell was that? she wondered, the edges of panic fading.  Her fingers were trembling so badly that she nearly dropped the cloth, only the warmth from his hand atop hers over his racing heartbeat kept her grounded enough to steady herself._

_Henry came over and put his hand on her shoulder.  “He’s ok now, Mom,” he said gently.  “He’s alive and that’s all that matters.”_

_She didn’t trust herself to speak, she knew she was too overwhelmed by everything that had happened the previous day, and especially the last few minutes.  She never dreamed Killian could have survived being stabbed by her father, but to see him like this, and so soon after Regina…  She nodded vaguely, a lump growing in her throat.  Yeah, he’s alive, kid, but only just barely._

_“Grace, why don't you take Henry to get some breakfast?” Jefferson said quietly from the doorway.  Henry hesitated a moment._

_“Go,” Emma said.  “I’m fine.”  She tried to smile at him, but she knew it came out all wrong.  He gave her a lopsided grin in return, patting her shoulder as he turned to follow the girl to the other room._

_Her smile slipped from her face as she turned back to the sleeping pirate.  He looked so pale, so still, it was hard to believe it was really him.  She’d never seen him this weak, not even when he was in the hospital after getting hit by Greg Mendel's car, not even when he’d nearly drowned in the pool last year.  He seemed… fragile, a word she would never have associated with Killian Jones._

_Jefferson’s voice interrupted her thoughts.  “You knew there was a chance it wouldn’t work without his memories,” he said as he walked around the bed to sit in the chair beneath the window._

_“Yeah,” she whispered, concentrating too hard on wiping Killian’s forehead.  “I just hoped that…. you know.”  She stopped herself as the lump in her throat grew larger, tears filling her eyes, blurring her vision.  She knew now how he must have felt that time in New York, his attempt to bring back her memories earning him a knee in the groin instead of the rushing release of magic.  He doesn’t remember me here, so how could he possibly love me back? she wondered angrily.  Why was I stupid enough to think it would be so easy?_

_“Henry’s right, though.  He’s alive,” Jefferson continued, “so you have some time.  There’s still a chance it could work.”_

_“We don’t even know if True Love’s Kiss will break whatever the hell this world is now,” she snapped, a fierceness creeping into her tone._

_He settled back into the chair, crossing one foot over his knee.  “It’s still a curse.  And True Love’s Kiss is still the strongest magic of all.  There is nothing more powerful, trust me on this.  It has to work, or we’re stuck here forever.”_

_“What if it's not-” she broke off.  “What if he doesn’t….”  Those damn tears again._

_He smirked, the sound obvious in his voice.  “Come on, Emma.  Wake up.  He's Captain Hook, pirate of the high seas for centuries, and he turned his back on all of that for you.  Everyone knows how much he loves you.”_

_She glared at him, in no mood to be dismissed so easily.  “Yeah, but that’s in Storybrooke.  This isn’t Storybrooke.”_

_“I’ve read the book, remember?  What about the bar wench back in the past?”_

_“That was different...”  Wait, was it?  She remembered the look he gave her when she first leaned over his table in that tavern, as if the entire world stopped and there was only one thing in it that mattered to him - her.  And the look he gave her just yesterday when they literally bumped into each other in the tower, it was almost the same.  Could this really work?_

_“Give it time,” he said softly as he stood.  “He’ll come around.  He always does.”_

_She nodded._

_He went to the doorway.  “How’s Henry doing with all of this?”_

_She almost snorted.  “Oh, just great.  He watched his mother’s boyfriend and the woman who raised him die to save him in one day.  And then finds out that Hook is still alive, but only just barely.  I think Henry’s having a great time on his first trip to the Enchanted Forest.”_

_Jefferson sighed, but she didn't turn to face him. “Be patient, Emma. This will work, I'm sure it will.  And Henry is, too, despite what happened with Regina.”_

_He left the room._

_Emma watched Killian as he slept, his breaths coming evenly but not without obvious strain even while unconscious. A flash of pain crossed his face, his eyes squeezing tightly as he gasped.  She reached out and smoothed his hair back, whispering to him as she stroked his cheek. “Shh, it's ok, Killian. I'm here, I'm right here.”  He calmed, muscles relaxing as she clenched her other hand, holding his fingers tightly against the sweat-soaked bandage across his chest.  He didn't know her, but even without his memories, he obviously trusted her, and he had risked his life to save them anyway._

_Maybe Jefferson's right, she thought as she held his face in her hand. Maybe this can work._

_“Killian, come back to me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 updates in less than 2 weeks, I told you reviews help me work faster. Care to continue the trend? *wink wink*


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who asked for more Captain Swan, here you go. Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my world. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.

Killian woke to something cold and wet pressed against his cheek.  He shivered and blinked open his eyes.

Emma sat beside him on the bed, wet rag in her hand.  Sunlight streamed in through the window behind her, close to midday if he guessed correctly.  He was still propped up on the ridiculously huge pile of pillows, but at least his breathing was much more even than before.  It hurt on each inhale, right in the center of his chest, but he assumed that was normal residual pain from being stabbed in the back.  Probably.

“Welcome back,” she said softly, a light smile on her face.  

He tugged the corner of his lips up into a one-sided grin.  “Thanks,” he mouthed.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” he replied honestly, his voice little more than a whisper.  “And cold.”

She nodded, rag twisting in her fingers.  “I can imagine,” she said.  “You’ve got a slight fever.  I just wanted to cool you off a bit before I put the blanket back on.  Whale managed to change the bandage while you slept, but he wants to clean the wound properly a bit later, if you’re up for it.”

 _Ouch,_ he thought, wincing inwardly.  He just nodded.

“I'm, uh,” she started, swallowing. “I'm sorry for earlier. I didn't realize you'd...  I didn't mean to hurt you, Killian.“ She looked up at him, meeting his eyes.  

“It's alright,” he whispered, words coming slowly with each breath. “Just didn't think… I'd see you… again.” He turned up his mouth in what he hoped looked like a smile.

She grinned softly. “Me neither.” Her eyes still held a sadness he wished he understood, but he was just so tired.  “Do you mind if I continue?” she said, holding up the wet cloth.  He shook his head, and she replaced it on his neck, dabbing gently.  The coolness of it felt good against his heated skin. He closed his eyes, resting on the pillows for a few minutes as she ran the rag along his chest.

“Emma,” he breathed, looking at her.  “What happened?  The wedding…?”

She paused and swallowed hard, focusing much too hard on the rag she held to his cheek.

“We found Regina,” she started softly.  “She, uh, she agreed to try and help us.  When we got there, the wedding was already finishing.  But we were ambushed.  Gold-”

He shook his head, interrupting her.  “The same...?”  He lifted his eyebrows in a question.

She nodded.  “The Gold who was working with the Author, yeah.  Only here, he’s called the Light One, some kind of magical do-gooder knight.  Rumplestiltskin.”

“Heard of him,” he whispered. He remembered vague tales of a hero on a white horse, travelling the kingdom and using his magic to help others. _He's the villain of this story?_

“Gold, and the Author, came to stop us.  We fought, but he was winning.  He turned on Henry when Regina-”  She broke off and looked into his eyes.  “Regina stepped in front of him, and he ran her through with his blade before he disappeared.  She didn’t make it.”

His eyes widened.  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” she said, twisting the cloth again in her hands.  “Me too.”  She cleared her throat.  “We grabbed the Author’s bag, but the pen won’t work.  And there’s no more ink left anyway.  Henry’s pretty upset about all of it.”

“Poor lad,” he whispered. Now the half smile from the boy earlier made sense. He'd just watched someone close to him die to save him.

“Yeah.”  She smiled sadly.  “He's pretty shaken up, but he's still Henry. When he believes something… “  She shrugged. “I can't say I share his belief this time.”

He was confused. “Belief?” he murmured, raising an eyebrow again.

“He believes the two of us can still break this curse,” she said, looking slightly uncomfortable.  “It's his… gift, he believes in people.  And he thinks we can do it.”

He was about to ask when it hit him.   _Henry believes in us to break the curse - the only way possible for someone without magic._

“The kiss,” he whispered, eyes wide. She nodded and looked down.  

_Oh, Emma._

“I'm sorry… didn't work,” he managed gently, hoping she understood just how much he meant those words.

“Killian, it's ok, there's no way you could have done anything differently.”  She dipped the rag into a small pail of water on the floor and squeezed out the excess.

_It’s not ok. I let you down._

_Again._

She was looking down at the crumpled cloth in her fingers. He reached out his hand and held her arm lightly. She met his eyes, hers shining with unshed tears.

“It was… familiar… “ he stammered quietly.  “We've done that… before?”

She smiled sadly. “Yeah, Killian. We've done that before.”   _Really?  How often have I kissed you like that?_ he wondered.

He grinned then, recalling the term she had taught him just yesterday. “Muscle memory,” he breathed.

This time she let out a short laugh. “Yeah, probably.”

The smile slid from his face as he turned serious. “Emma… I don't know… if i can… be him...”

_I don't know if I can love you like he must love you, or if you'll ever look at me the way you do when you're talking about him._

“Killian, you _are_ him,” she said, a confused look on her face.

He shook his head. “Not really,” he murmured sadly.   _...no matter how much I wish I were, not without any memories of us._

Her eyes filled with tears again as she looked away.

“I know,” she said quietly.

He tightened his grasp on her arm, waiting for her to turn back to him.

“I’m willing… to try… “ he managed haltingly.  “If that’s alright…”

He looked at her, really looked at her.  She had believed so strongly that he could be her Killian, even after he'd proven himself to be far less competent, that she had tried the kiss with him immediately upon their reunion. He honestly didn't know if he even could love her as much as her Killian so obviously did, but she had been open to trying, and so would he, as long as she'd let him.

“Stay,” he whispered.  “Please.”

She placed her other hand on top of his and squeezed his fingers gently.  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said quietly.  “But you need to promise me something first.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“You need to survive.  I can’t-” she paused, swallowing hard.  “Don’t die on me again, ok?”

He nodded once against the pillows.  “I’ll do my best,” he said solemnly.

“Ok,” she said as she lifted the damp cloth to his forehead.  He watched her for a few moments, struggling as his eyes demanded to close in exhaustion.  He was about to give in when he heard her quiet question.

“How long have you been drawing swans, Killian?”

He thought back.  He couldn’t quite remember the first time he’d sketched one, it was almost second nature at this point.  “Don’t know exactly… .as long as… I can remember,” he breathed, blinking heavily.  She was quiet.

He remembered her face when she found his drawings earlier, and forced his eyes to open.

“Why?”

“No reason,” she replied.  She was hiding something, and as much as he needed to sleep, he needed to know what that was.

“Emma,” he said, tightening his fingers on her arm.  “Why?”

She slowly met his eyes, a grin playing on the corners of her mouth.  

“My name,” she said softly, “is Emma.”

He nodded.   _I know, but what does that have to do with…?_

Her smile grew, almost shyly, before she continued.

“But my full name, is Emma Swan.”

He stopped breathing for a moment, the entire world around him stopping precariously as he tried to process what she just told him.   _Swan_.   _No wonder she looked so started on the ship.  Her name._

Even without his memories, even as a supposed character in a fairy tale story, he had always been drawn to swans.  Their strength, their beauty, their protective qualities - all attributes of the woman who now sat beside him.  Any doubts he’d had earlier disappeared the moment she said her name.

_Maybe this plan could actually work._

The smile on his face matched hers as he slipped into sleep, his hold on her arm loosening.

“I’ll wake you later, when Whale comes,” he heard from the edges of consciousness, as he felt her tucking the warm blanket up around his neck.

He murmured back heavily.  “As you wish, Emma Swan.”

He was asleep before he could hear her soft laugh in response.

* * *

Emma woke him later that evening, a cup of foul-smelling, dark tea in her hand.  

“Drink this,” she said gently.  “It’ll help when the doc comes.”

“What is it?” he mumbled as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Something Whale made, he said it would numb the pain a bit, and it supposedly has some antibiotic properties.”  He considered it for a moment, regarding her skeptically as he wrinkled up his nose.

“Yeah, it smells gross,” she agreed. She slipped her hand behind his head, lifting him from the pillows.  “Just drink it.”

She put the cup to his lips and he took a sip of the warm drink.  He grimaced and pulled away as he swallowed.  “I know, it’s bad,” she said, “but you need it.”  He just looked at her, lips pressed together tightly, feeling like a child but unwilling to have any more of the terrible tea.

“Please,” she begged, nudging the cup forward.

He sighed and opened his mouth for another drink.  The second gulp was just as bad as the first, but he managed to choke it down.  Barely.  The third, though…

He twisted his head away as he tried desperately to swallow the horrible concoction in his mouth.  He gulped, clenching his jaw against the rising nausea from his stomach.  He really, _really_ wasn’t prepared to throw up just now.

He heard her whisper from behind his closed eyes.  “One more?”

He shook his head, breathing harder than he should have had to.  He heard her put down the cup, but soon she tapped his lips again with the cool metal.  He squeezed his eyes closed tighter, trying to pull away.

“It’s goat’s milk, Killian,” she urged.  “It’ll get rid of the taste.”

He opened his eyes and looked down.  Sure enough, the small tin cup was filled with white milk.  He sipped a bit, grateful for the familiar flavor to chase away most of the lingering awfulness of the previous substance.  She laid his head back against the pillows and ran her hand across his forehead, smoothing his hair.

“Rest now,” she said.  “He’ll be here soon.”  She fixed the blanket around his shoulders.

He nodded and closed his eyes, throat still working hard to keep the nauseating effects of disgusting drink down, as he felt her get up from the bed, heard her footsteps as she left the room.  He fell back asleep almost instantly.

* * *

She woke him again not long afterward.  

“Whale’s here,” she said as he pulled open his eyes.  Sure enough, standing beside her was the now-familiar white haired healer.

“I heard you had a boring day today,” he said grinning widely.  “In my profession, boring is good.  Still feverish though, a little more than I’m happy with, but you seem to be perking up nicely.  Emma said you drank some of the tea?”

Killian could only nod.  He was feeling a better, generally, though he wasn’t sure how much was a result of the horrible tea he had earlier.  He shuddered at the memory.  Or the cold, he couldn’t tell which, the blanket that had been wrapped around his chest now pulled back to his knees.  He was glad to see he was still wearing his trousers, something he hadn’t even considered since he’d first woken up in the bed yesterday.

Whale nodded.  “I know how bad it tastes, but it should help.  You might feel a bit woozy for a few hours though.  Are you ready?”

He nodded again and looked to Emma.  Something was different, something-

“Your hair,” he whispered to her.  It had been pulled back since she had changed into fresh clothing on the ship, but now the long, golden strands hung loosely down her back, a gently wave rippling across it.

She laughed.  “Yeah.  I finally got a chance to wash it.  Can’t say I’d stay here for the bathing arrangements though.”  He must have looked confused because she just chuckled again and pulled her chair closer to the bed.  “Just relax, Killian,” she said as she bent toward him.

She slid her arm behind his neck, lifting him from the pillow as the healer went around to the other side of the bed.  She wrapped her other arm around his knees and slowly turned him on the bed, careful to keep his upper body in line with his legs as she swung his bare feet off the side of the bed.  He gasped, biting back a cry as he felt his back being pulled even with her gentle movements.  

She pulled him close, laying his head on her shoulder.  He panted breathlessly, allowing himself to fully relax against her body, already exhausted though he’d put in no effort of his own.  Her hand came up to lay on his chest, just as before, and he could feel the racing of his heart beating beneath her fingers as her other hand ran up and down his left arm.

“I’ve got you, Killian,” she whispered into his hair.  He closed his eyes, waiting.

He felt the healer tugging off the bandages from his chest, unwinding them from around him.  He heard him “Hmmm” quietly as he poked gently at the stab wound.  Killian hissed sharply, tightening his fist around Emma’s back as he fought to stay still.

“Your back looks much better than yesterday,” Emma said softly above him.  He nodded against her shoulder.  He could only imagine what “better” looked like, not having seen it before or now, only seeing the resulting bloodied bandages, which seemed pretty bad.  He felt a bit lightheaded, but he was sure it was an effect of the numbing tea from earlier and not from the way her hand was rubbing gentle circles on his upper arm, or her fingers pressed tightly against his bare chest.

He heard the man behind him opening a jar.  “Try not to move too much, Hook,” he said.  “It might sting a bit, but it’ll feel a whole lot better in a few minutes.”  

A second later, he felt the medicine man’s fingers rubbing something cool and wet across his back.  It didn’t sting, it _burned_.  He gasped, shifting his back away from the fiery sensation.  He could hear Emma whispering quietly in his ear, but he couldn’t help the soft groans that slipped out from his lips as he tried to escape the bloom of pain racing along his skin.

His arm wrapped around Emma’s back tightly as he held onto her, his head turning toward her neck.  He was wheezing now, fiercely hoping he would have another - what was it called?  Panic attack? - before Whale was through.  Emma’s hand pushed against his ribs, her fingers curling in the hairs on his chest, as he focused on pulling in breath after breath, trying desperately to ignore the torment at his back.  “Almost done,” she whispered in his ear, her breath warm against his cheek.  “You’re doing great.”

He didn’t know if he could last much longer.  Whatever medicinal properties the tea held, he was sure he still could feel every bit of what was the healer was doing to him.  He was tired, he hurt, and he just wanted to sleep.  Emma’s hands on his fevered skin was the only thing keeping him from letting go and just slipping away with the pain, as he forced himself to keep breathing, keep holding onto her.

“Finished,” he heard Whale say, his fingers lifting from his skin.  In a few moments, the fire on his back had died down to a throbbing ache, his breaths evening out as he relaxed against her.  She never let go as he listened to Whale closing up the jar of whatever salve he had finished spreading on him.  She didn’t move as Whale wrapped a fresh bandage around his middle.  She held him as Whale gave her instructions for dealing with his fever, words he was just too tired to focus on.  He just needed to sleep.

She tapped his cheek just then.  “Killian, you ok?” she asked softly.  He nodded, his nose bumping her neck as he did.  He was covered in sweat, from exertion and fever combined, and he was so exhausted he felt like he could just sleep right where he was - resting against her shoulder.  But he had to know, he just needed to see her face...

Slowly, tensing his muscles carefully not to pull anything, he sat back from her, supporting himself on the edge of the bed with his hand and blunted wrist.  His head felt so heavy, but he forced himself to lift it, to look at her under his own strength.   _So beautiful_ , he thought, and not for the first time since he’d met her in this world.

He reached his hand up, balancing on his left arm as he touched the golden hair just behind her ear, his fingers running through the silken strands.  His eyes locked on hers as she kept her hand on his chest, her other arm dropping to her lap as she sat frozen in place, her eyes wide as she watched him.  He could feel his heart racing as he ran his hand along the smooth skin of her jaw, rubbing his thumb softly over the slight dimple in her chin.  Her breath hitched, her eyes shining with a shimmering brightness as she sat before him, but she didn’t look away, and neither could he.

He lowered his hand to her arm and held on tightly as he continued to stare at her.   _I should know this_ , he thought, suddenly overwhelmed with a fierce longing to remember.   _I should know her_.  His thumb stroked the delicate, soft skin at the inner part of her wrist as he desperately tried to pull up the memory.  It was like a word at the tip of his tongue, slipping elusively out of his grasp every time he thought he was getting close.

 _Just who are you, Emma Swan?_ he wondered.   _Who are we?_

He blinked heavily just then, breaking the spell.  Sagging slightly, he leaned into her hand, energy spent.  She understood, slipping her arm beneath his knees and lifting his legs back up on the bed.  She lay him against the pillows, and this time, it didn’t even hurt when his back touched the soft cushions.  Deftly, she pulled the covers over him, tucking them around his shoulders at his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, a tear he didn’t even know he had slipping swiftly down his cheek.  She looked at him, her deep green eyes filled with a sadness and longing he finally, finally understood.  “I wish I knew you.”

She reached for his hand and held it in her own.

“You will,” she murmured as she sat back down on the chair beside him.  “Give it time.”

He nodded groggily, blinking back any more tears that might have been hiding.  He clenched her hand tightly.

“I’m not going anywhere, Killian.”

Her sad smile was the last thing he saw before he drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love meeting you readers and hearing what you think! Thanks for reading so far!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two more chapters to go! Hoping to have the next one up in a few days. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my world. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.

He felt a hand on his forehead before he was even fully awake, the warm fingers brushing against his hair lightly.  Killian managed to pry open his eyes and blinked against the bright morning sunlight that filled the room.  

Grace stood beside him, her small hand on his cheek.

“Oh!” she jumped in surprise, pulling away quickly.  “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.”

He shook his head, smiling gently. “It's ok,” he said softly.

“Papa just went to lie down,” she said, her voice quiet as she adjusted the blankets around him.  “He said your fever broke about an hour ago.  He and Emma were up all night taking care of you.”  She nodded toward the window.

He turned his head in the direction she indicated.  He couldn’t remember what happened throughout the night, but Emma must have been exhausted to be resting in such a position.  She was curled up in the chair beneath the window, a blanket tucked under her chin as she slept.  Her blonde hair was fanned across the top of the heavy quilt, shining golden in the bright light from outside.  She looked so peaceful, her long eyelashes resting on her cheeks as she breathed slowly and evenly, her shoulders rising and falling with each breath.  

“Papa said she refused to leave your side,” he heard Grace say.  “At least, not until the fever went down.”

He turned back to the girl.  “You look much better,” she said quietly.  

Killian nodded.  He did feel worlds better already, though a heavy tiredness persisted.  Whatever poultice the healer had applied the night before had definitely helped; his back ached with only a gentle throb and his breaths were deeper and more even, with just a sharp twinge of pain in his chest to remind him of the stab wound.

“I was just making some soup, do you feel up to eating anything yet?” she asked.

He was surprised to find that he was actually a bit hungry.  “I’d love some,” he whispered with a grin.  

Grace’s eyes sparkled happily.  “That’s good!” she exclaimed.  “I’ll go get a bowl for you.”  She stood and went to the kitchen.

Killian looked back at Emma, sleeping soundly in the chair.  His heart clenched tightly in his chest.  This woman, this beautiful, strong woman loved him, he didn't think he'd ever get used to that thought.  He wanted to believe that everything she and Henry had told him was true - that he wasn’t a coward, that he had people who cared about him, a life, maybe even a family - but her, them…  He just couldn’t picture someone actually caring for him like she did, no matter how much he wished it.

He must have dozed off for a few minutes because, when he opened his eyes again, the room was empty.  He heard voices from the other room, and he smiled when he heard Emma laugh loudly.  Henry stepped into the doorway just then and grinned when he saw he was awake.

“Mom!  Hook’s up!” he called over his shoulder.  He held a steaming bowl in his hands as he walked over to the chair at the window.  “Mom said you had a long night,” he said.  “How’re you feeling now?”

“Better,” Killian answered hoarsely, his voice still not quite back to itself.  The smell of the soup wafted over just then, his mouth watering instantly, and he was suddenly sure that nothing had ever smelled so amazing.

Emma came in then carrying another bowl as she came to sit beside him on the mattress.  Grace followed, pulling up a chair of her own on his left.  

“Good morning,” Emma smiled, touching his forehead gently.  “You gave us quite a scare last night.”

“Sorry,” he whispered.  She seemed tired, dark shadows under her eyes.   _Because of me,_ he thought.

She looked to the bowl in her lap and reached for the spoon that stuck out from it.  “Grace said you wanted something to eat?”  

“Aye,” he answered.  “Please.”  The smell of the soup was beyond distracting now, all he wanted was a taste, his stomach rumbling suddenly in anticipation.  

“Do you want me to…” she trailed off, a question at the end of her words as she indicated to the spoon.

He nodded.  As strong as he’d have liked to pretend he was, he knew he was too weak to feed himself without spilling most of it.

Emma lifted the spoon to his lips and he opened his mouth, the warm soup slipping onto his tongue.  He was sure he’d had better food than this simple soup sometime in his life, but at that moment, it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.  He could feel the warmth travelling to his belly, calming the protests his stomach.

She fed him about half the soup in the bowl in silence, small sips that he could swallow easily without losing his breath.  She stifled a yawn every few sips and he wished he could adequately apologize for being the cause of her obvious exhaustion, but he wasn’t sure what happened last night.  Henry and Grace were talking animatedly at the other end of the bed about their adventure rescuing Emma from the tower, Grace laughing at something he had just said about his former captain.  Killian chuckled softly.

“What?” Emma asked, putting down the bowl on the table as she yawned again.

“I realized something,” he said quietly, his voice already stronger than before.  He met her eyes, the deep green in them mirroring the forest outside the window.  “Blackbeard.  I don’t ever have to work under him again.  Whatever happens, I can go anywhere now, be anyone.  I can finally travel the realms, see the world.”   _With you, if you wish._ He swallowed hard, aching to add those silent words, not sure if she wanted to hear them.

“I’m free,” he said simply, his fingers twisting in the blanket.  He didn’t want her to think he was giving up on her, on them, on fixing the story and saving everyone, but this was a new chance, an opportunity he’d never experienced - to start over somewhere, anywhere, and live life on his own terms.

She didn’t say anything right away, her gaze uncertain.  Just as she opened her mouth to respond, he heard a noise outside.  While the general sound of it was familiar, something was off.  

He held up a hand, listening.  Emma raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say a word, the sound of the wagon getting louder as it approached.

“Grace, are you expecting anyone?” he asked the girl.

She shook her head, eyes wide.  “Whale said he’d come over tonight to check on you, and Red had errands to run in town today.”

From the sound of it, the wagon was too big to be a regular country cart, and there were at least two horses pulling it, rare in these poorer villages.  Which could only mean one thing.

_No, it can’t be._

Emma understood immediately.  “Killian, they couldn’t have found us here,” she whispered quietly.  She stood and went to the door, peering through the kitchen to the front room beyond it.  He watched as she left the room, moving silently through the doorway.

A few seconds later, she came rushing back in and closed the door behind her.  She was trembling, he could see her fingers shaking.  

“It’s them,” Emma whispered.  “My parents.”  

Fear raced through Killian with those words, his gut twisting at the thought of seeing the Evil Queen and her loyal black knight.  The knight, Charming.  The man who stabbed him in the back.  His chest throbbed painfully in time with his racing heart.

Henry stood quickly and made his way to his mother.  “What do we do?” he asked.

Killian wished he knew what to say.  At the moment, the terror at meeting with his attackers again was too overwhelming to think of anything else.

He watched as Emma took a deep breath, and then came over to the table beside him.  She grabbed the sword that had been propped up against it, the sword Killian had tried to use earlier in his unsuccessful fight with the Queen’s guard.  She strapped it around her waist as she spoke.

“I’ll take care of them,” she said, focusing intently on the buckle.  “Killian, they think you're dead, so just stay right here.  Grace, Henry, climb out the window and run to Whale’s house.  Do not come back, not until I come and get you, do you hear me?”  She reached for her son, kissed him on his head and pushed him toward the window.  “Go.”

Henry didn’t budge.  “I’m not leaving you, Mom,” he said, a note of defiance in his voice.  She sighed, but didn’t argue.

Grace stayed as well.  “My Papa, he’s still sleeping…” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.  Emma went over to her and touched her cheek.  “Your papa will be fine, I promise.  They won’t even get inside the door.  Go to Whale, you’ll be safe there.”  The girl nodded, went to the window and climbed out with one last look back.

 _I can’t stay and do nothing,_ Killian realized suddenly.   _I won’t just sit here and hide like a coward._  He pulled the blanket off and tried twisting his legs off the bed.  He winced at the movement, his arms trembling with the effort of holding himself up, but he didn’t stop until his feet touched the floor.  Emma noticed and hurried over to him, crouching beside him.

“Killian, what are you doing?” she asked, panic lining her voice.  “You can’t fight them, you can barely even sit up.”

He shook his head.  “You need to run.  Get far away from here, both of you.  You can find another way to break this curse, but I’m not going to let you fight them for me.”

“I’m not leaving you here to die,” she said, her eyes flashing brightly.  “Don’t you dare ask me to do that, not again.”

“Emma,” he said, reaching trembling fingers to touch her face.  “They’re your parents.  You can’t kill them, it’ll destroy you.”

She blinked quickly, her voice hard.  “You won’t let me save you but I’m supposed to just let you sacrifice yourself for me?  How is that fair, Killian?”

He smiled sadly, running his hand into her hair.  “It’s not,” he whispered.  “Please, let me protect you, give you some time to run and find another way home.”

Emma wiped her arm across her eyes, her sleeve erasing the last traces of moisture from her eyes, as she pulled away from his touch and stood.

“No,” she glared.  “I’m done watching people I care about die for me.  It’s my turn to save you.”  She turned and ran out the door, Henry close behind.

 _There’s got to be another way,_ he thought desperately.  He could see Liam in his mind, his final moments replaying over and over.  His brave brother, his captain, had ordered him to hide while he went out on deck to deal with the pirates who’d stolen aboard the ship.  Killian had obeyed, terrified, as he climbed into the small space below the quarterdeck.  But Liam had known, he knew all along, that he wasn’t going to survive the encounter, his final smile to Killian one that said goodbye without words.  His brother died to save him, and he couldn’t lose anyone else like that while he cowered in a corner, least of all the beautiful blonde who, in some reality, loved him with all her heart.

He glanced at the window, remembering how far Grace had dropped as she climbed out to safety.   _I can do it,_ he thought.  He grabbed his brace from the table and quickly strapped it to his arm, clicking his hook into place in one smooth twist.  There was no other weapon in the room; it would have to do.  He took a few breaths, readying himself as he prepared to stand.  He held the table and the bed as he pushed off the mattress.  He swayed precariously, the room tilting alarmingly, but he stood.  Steadying himself on the wall, he made his way around the bed to the open window.  His legs were weak from disuse, muscles trembling as he moved slowly, his strength barely supporting his weight, but he pressed onward.

Killian approached the window and grasped the frame.  He lifted one leg up and over the sill, then the next.  He rested briefly, balancing on the edge, breathing fast and hard, careful to keep his back away from the walls as he held the window frame for support.  His back hurt, the dull ache growing with each movement he made.   He ignored it.  He could hear Emma’s voice from the front of the house, but he couldn’t make out her words.   _Hurry up_ , he berated himself.  

The ground was only a couple of feet below his dangling feet.  He eased himself toward the grass, stifling a cry as he tumbled to his knees.  He could feel the stitches pulling at his skin, the pain flashing across his entire back.  Sweat covered his skin in a fine sheen as he worked on catching his breath.  He couldn’t stop, couldn’t think about the damage, not when he was so close.

He slowly got to his feet and held onto the outside wall of the small cottage, leaning his shoulder and hook against it far more heavily than he would have liked.  Keeping the solid logs to his left, he gradually made his way to the end of the wall, the soft grass crunching quietly beneath his bare feet. He cautiously peered around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger - MUHAHAHAHAHA! If you want the next chapter, leave a review or comment!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day, I must really love you guys! This is the penultimate chapter (sniff!). I hope you like it, and thanks for sticking with me!
> 
> Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my world. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.

_**Previously:** _

_Killian approached the window and grasped the frame.  He lifted one leg up and over the sill, then the next.  He rested briefly, balancing on the edge, breathing fast and hard, careful to keep his back away from the walls as he held the window frame for support.  His back hurt, the dull ache growing with each movement he made.   He ignored it.  He could hear Emma’s voice from the front of the house, but he couldn’t make out her words.  Hurry up, he berated himself._

_The ground was only a couple of feet below his dangling feet.  He eased himself toward the grass, stifling a cry as he tumbled to his knees.  He could feel the stitches pulling at his skin, the pain flashing across his entire back.  Sweat covered his skin in a fine sheen as he worked on catching his breath.  He couldn’t stop, couldn’t think about the damage, not when he was so close._

_He slowly got to his feet and held onto the outside wall of the small cottage, leaning his shoulder and hook against it far more heavily than he would have liked.  Keeping the solid logs to his left, he gradually made his way to the end of the wall, the soft grass crunching quietly beneath his bare feet. He cautiously peered around the corner._

 

* * *

 

The Queen’s carriage stood on the ground beside the house unguarded, the horses nibbling on the grass as they waited.  Killian heard the Queen laugh from somewhere around the next corner.

 _Perhaps there’s a weapon in there,_ he thought desperately.   _Something to help Emma_.  He let go of the wall and reached for the carriage door, opening it without a sound.  Looking around, he saw no sword, though a small wooden box caught his eye, the intricate carvings on the lid leaving no mistake about what was inside.  For the first time since hearing the Queen’s approach, he allowed himself a glimmer of hope as an idea formed in his mind.

 _This could work_ , he grinned, opening the lid.

He’d heard tales of that box, of what it contained, but he’d never dreamed he’d be standing before it, plotting to use the object inside to save the woman who loved him.  He quickly grabbed the item, careful not to grasp it too hard, and backed away from the carriage.  

He was breathing hard, too hard, his chest heaving painfully as he leaned heavily against the wall once more.  He knew with certainty that the stitches in his wound had ripped open, probably from the fall to the ground a few minutes ago; he could feel the warmth of his blood soaking the bandage on his back.  Sweat stood out on his face and neck and his legs threatened to give out on him, but he forced himself to disregard the pain, the weakness.  

This was it, this was his chance to save them.

He took a steadying breath and pushed off the wall and slowly made his way toward the front of the house, the delicate object cradled lightly in his hand, concealed in his fingers.  Emma and her father had their swords drawn, the blades leveled at each other, the Queen standing beside her knight, Henry behind his mother.  

Everyone turned to stare at him as he stepped out.

“Drop your sword,” he said, each word slow and clear as he glared at Charming.

The Queen’s jaw dropped as the black knight’s sword immediately fell to the ground.  “What are you doing?” she shouted, turning to him.  “Pick that up!”  Charming didn't move.

He could see Emma and Henry from the corner of his eye, he could feel her watching him, probably not too happy to see him, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the Queen and her guard.  He could finish this, right here, right now, end it once and for all and save them both.

“Killian,” he heard her whisper.  “What are you-”

He cut her off with a quick shake of his head, his focus still on the royal before him.

The Queen visibly tried to rein in her anger as she slipped a mask of detachment over her features, giving up on her disobedient knight as she turned to Killian.  “Well, well, well,” she said calmly, eyeing him up and down.  “If it isn’t the brave little pirate, back from the dead.”

“Next time, perhaps you should make sure I’m dead before leaving,” he said as strongly as he could manage.  He ignored the shaking in his legs, praying silently that they didn’t give out on him until this was all over.  Beads of sweat trailed down his neck and back, mixing with the bloody bandage he hid behind him.

Snow White smirked.  “Perhaps we were a bit too hasty the other day,” she seethed.  “Don’t worry, pirate.  That was a mistake I don’t mean to duplicate today.”  She turned back to her knight.

“Kill him.  And then kill the other two.”  Charming still didn’t budge.

Killian just smiled.  “I don’t think so, Your Majesty.”

He opened his hand, revealing the glowing red heart he cradled gently against his chest.  “You see, he can’t really do much of anything at the moment.”

Once again, the Queen looked horrified.  “You stole that from my carriage!  How dare you?”

Killian tried to shrug, but changed his mind with the pain the small movement caused.  He was almost dizzy with exhaustion, and he could feel the hot blood beginning to seep into the top of his trousers.  He knew the bandage must be saturated by now; he could feel his strength ebbing as he nearly toppled over.  He forced his muscles to lock and caught himself, standing firmly.  He covered up his pain with a broad smile.  “Pirate, Your Majesty.”

A glowing fireball appeared suddenly in her hand, her lips peeling back from her teeth with a snarl.  “I’ll take care of you myself then,” she spat, raising her hand menacingly.

“Ah ah ah,” he cautioned, wrapping his fingers securely around the heart.  “Do you really think you’re magic is faster than I am?  I wouldn’t risk it.”  The flames disappeared, but her look of hatred remained.

He lowered the grin and his voice.  “Now, Your Majesty,” he said carefully, “this is how it’s going to work.  You will take your guard and leave this place, and never return.  You will give us one week to return to my ship, the three of us,” he nodded to Emma and the boy, who were watching him closely, Emma’s face a mask of worry and concern as she stood with her son, the sword still held firmly in her grasp.  “If,” he continued, turning back to the silently fuming Queen, her guard standing motionless beside her, “if we are not gone in a week, you have my permission to come after us.  But once we leave your land, you will _not_ pursue us.  Are we clear?”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she considered his offer, and if he had the strength he probably would have been frightened.  But it was so close to being over, and he was just so _tired_.  He struggled to keep his eyes open, and balancing while standing had never been harder.

“Fine.”  She put out her hand.  “Give me the heart, and we have a deal.”

He let out a quick laugh, ignoring how the movement sent shivers of pain up his battered torso.  “No, I think not.  I’ll hold onto this, as insurance.  When we get safely to my ship, I’ll have it sent to you.”  He spun the heart nonchalantly in his hands, careful not to squeeze it too hard.  “If I see any sign of you before that week is up, a single guard spying on us, anything that even _looks_ like trouble, your most valuable knight is dead.”  On the last word, he stopped spinning the enchanted heart and just gripped it, tight.  Charming let out a grunt of pain, his hand coming up to his chest.  

Point made, Killian relaxed his hand.

“Agreed?” he asked arching an eyebrow.  The Queen glared at him, but nodded.  “Deal,” she spat.  “One week.  But if I see you around for even a _moment_ longer than that week, I’ll kill you three myself.”

“Your Majesty, if I have to spend a moment longer than that in this accursed realm, I would welcome such an end,” he said, trying to look bored.  She spun around, skirts flying, as she and Charming headed back to the carriage.  He glanced at Emma as they left, silently signaling her not to move, waiting as they drove off.

The moment the carriage turned in the distance, the moment they were finally out of sight, Killian could feel whatever reserves of energy he'd used finally slip away and he collapsed to his knees, still cradling the heart to his chest.   He was done, exhausted, empty, he could feel it in every shuddering breath he took.  He heard Emma call out his name as she ran to him, but he didn’t have the strength to lift his head.  

It was over.

He felt her fingers on his shoulders, her grasp strong but trembling.  “The bandage, Killian,” she whispered hoarsely.  “There’s so much blood.”  Her hand went to his back and pressed over the stab wound.  He hissed, but didn’t move, _couldn’t_ move.

“What did you do?” she asked sadly, her hand at his cheek.

He struggled to lift his head, to meet her eyes, which glistened brightly.

“Saved you,” he rasped weakly.  “And Henry.  Take the ship.  Get away.  Live your life.”  His voice broke, tears forming in his eyes.  “You’re free now.”

His head fell back down, too heavy to hold up anymore.  He felt himself falling forward, as she carefully took the heart from his hand, turning him in her lap so he lay against her.  He struggled for breath, forcing himself to concentrate on that one task.  He was so tired, each rise and fall of his chest took so much effort.  Henry sat beside him, his hand on Killian’s shoulder, heart clutched gently in his hands.

Tears spilled down her cheeks.  He wished he could wipe them away, but he couldn’t lift his hand.  

_Breathe in, out.  Again._

“No, I don’t want to live alone anymore,” she said softly.  “Free or not, not without you.  I can’t lose you again.”  She stroked his cheek gently.  “You promised, Killian.  You promised.”  She buried her face in his hair, clutching at him desperately as she cried.

He wanted to soothe her, wanted to hold her, tell her it would be ok, but the words wouldn’t come.  He could feel himself slipping further away, it was all he could do to push himself to stay awake, stay with her.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, meaning it with all his heart.

He grinned then, a slow smile that spread almost effortlessly across his face despite his exhaustion. He knew, now. He knew without a shadow of a doubt.  He had no memories of ever feeling this way, but he was certain nonetheless.  He huffed out a short laugh.

“What?” she asked, sniffling.  “What is it?  What’s wrong?”

He forced the words to come.  “I don’t want to lose you, either” he whispered.

She brushed a hand over his forehead, smoothing his hair from his eyes.  “Then why are you smiling?” she questioned.

His grin only grew.  “Because,” he breathed, no sound to his voice, a tear of his own running down his cheek.  “I think I love you.”

A sob burst from her throat as she leaned forward, pressing her face against his.  “I love you too, Killian,” she whispered against his skin.  “Please, don’t leave me.”  He felt her lips press against his forehead -

\- any air he had left was suddenly knocked out of him by the blast of magic that burst from her kiss.  Killian struggled for air, as the memories poured back into him.

_the beanstalk, their first adventure_

_bringing back the bean he stole as he dared to hope for her forgiveness_

_the Neverland jungle, sticky and hot, the place he hated most in all the realms_

_their first kiss, leaving him more wrecked than he could ever admit_

_bringing her home from the past, to her family, to him_

_his whispered voice, “Don’t you know Emma, it’s you”_

He gasped, desperate to hold onto what little life he had left.  “Emma,” he whispered.

She pulled back, hesitation in her eyes as she spoke.  “You remember?” she asked incredulously.

He nodded.  It worked.  Her kiss worked.  That meant… _No,_ he thought sadly, his heart clenching painfully in his chest.   _It isn’t fair._  A tear slipped from his eye and ran back into his hair.  Another followed.  “Aye,” he rasped.  “I remember everything.  I’m sorry, Emma.  I’m so sorry.”  A shudder of pain ran through him suddenly and he arched back into her arms, stifling a cry.  His fingers twitched at his side, he wanted to touch her, one last time.

She saw, and reached for his hand, wrapping him in her own fingers, squeezing tightly.  “You have nothing to be sorry for, Killian, you saved us, you got back our memories.  You’re a hero.”  

He swallowed and took a breath, clutching at her hand with as much strength as he could manage.  “Didn’t want to be,” he murmured, the words so heavy in his mouth, “one more person.  Who let you down.”  He closed his eyes, fighting against the flash of pain that raced through his body.

Emma released his hand, her face blurry through the moisture in his eyes, and reached up to stroke his cheek.  “You didn’t,” she said, running her fingers along his cheek, as he forced himself to memorize her every feature, every touch.  “You didn’t let me down.  I’m proud of you, Killian.”  She dropped her head to his, her sobs coming freely now against him.  His own tears ran down his face as she held him.

“That’s it!” Henry exclaimed suddenly.  Emma snapped up her head to look at him.  “Mom, you’re a genius!”  He jumped up and ran inside, delicately holding the heart as he left.  He was back in a moment, minus the heart but carrying the author’s satchel.

“Henry, we tried that already,” she said sadly, sniffling.  “There’s no ink left, remember?”  Henry dumped the contents of the bag on the ground and then snatched up the book.  He opened it to a blank page, then turned back to the bag.  “It has to be here somewhere,” he muttered.

“Ah ha!”  Triumphantly, Henry held out the Author’s pen, a smile across his face.

Suddenly, the pen began to glow, a pale blue light radiating from the tip as it completely engulfed his hand, arm, and finally his entire body before fading away.  Henry seemed just as stunned as Killian and Emma.

“Whoa, kid, what the hell?” She asked slowly, eyes wide as she watched him.

He grinned at her.  “I’m the next author.”

“How-” she started, then shook her head.  “How did you know?”

He shrugged nonchalantly.  “I had a feeling, but I had no way of knowing without the savior.”

Emma shook her head.  “I don’t have any magic here.  And  we still don’t have anything to write with.  ”

Henry’s smile only grew.  “We don’t need your magic, Mom.  The Author created this world by using the blood from the dark savior.  That’s why he wanted you to turn evil so badly.  In this world, we don’t need a _dark_ savior, we need a light one.”

“Kid, I told you, I don’t ha-”

“It’s isn’t you,” Henry interrupted, grin never wavering.  “You didn’t break the memory curse.  You’re not the savior here.  Hook is.  He broke the spell this time, by loving you.  He’s the hero.”

Emma looked down at Killian.  He didn’t know what to say.  He didn’t think he could say anything if he tried.  He could barely keep his eyes open, and following what Henry was saying was a greater challenge than it should have been.

“He’s right,” she whispered.  “It’s you, Killian.”  He tried to argue, tried to explain why it couldn’t be him, but he couldn’t even move his mouth.  Darkness began to creep into the edges of his vision, it was all he could do to keep breathing, each gasp of air more desperate than the next as he grasped her hand weakly.

Henry reached over and touched the tip of the pen to the small pool of his blood that had dripped to the ground as he lay there.  Killian struggled to stay awake, forcing his eyes to stay open as they tried to close forever.  He watched as Henry tapped the pen against his lips, thinking hard.  His eyes lit up suddenly.  “Got it.”  He bent over the book, pen scratching furiously as he read the words he etched on the fresh page.

“Thanks to the hero Killian’s sacrifice, Isaac’s villainous work was undone.”

There was a bright flash of light, and Killian knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Comments? Reviews? Thanks!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished it. I never thought this day would come, but it has. My first multi-chapter and now it’s finally over. I’m so grateful for the feedback I got on this, I never anticipated that people would actually like it, so thank you all for your support and your patience.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my world. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.

Killian wakes abruptly, his eyes open wide before he’s even fully sure he’s awake.  He’s gasping for air, though it comes easily now.  

He’s back, back in Storybrooke, in the Charming’s loft, alive.

And he can breathe.

He sits up slowly from where he’s sprawled on the floor somewhere in the kitchen, expecting his back to pull painfully with each movement he makes, but there’s nothing, no sign of any of the trauma he so recently became accustomed.

He nearly gasps again when he sees them.

David and Mary Margaret, still asleep on the floor

He knows they’re not who they were in that cursed story book, he _knows_ , but he can’t help the speeding of his heart, the race of his blood through his veins, and the twist of fear in his gut.

He forces himself to take a breath, and then another, trying to calm down, forcing himself to quell the absolute _terror_ he can’t control, but his fingers won’t stop trembling, his legs itching to carry him as far from there as possible.

He stands, trying to ignore the fear, stuffing it down somewhere far from consciousness, but he knows he has to move, to go somewhere, _anywhere_ else, to get his body to fully relax.  He looks around, the mess of Henry’s backpack strewn around the floor, the Charmings passed out on the rug near the stairs.

Upstairs.

He rushes from the kitchen and up the stairs, his whole body shaking now.   _Get a hold of yourself_ , he berates himself silently, but he can’t, not after everything that never happened.

He leans his now-healed back against the brick wall in Emma’s bedroom, the sleeping royals behind him below.  His heart pounds painfully in his chest, his breath coming shakily and all too quickly.

He hears them moving downstairs, beginning to wake.  They’re talking, their voices a gently rippling in the air that he can’t bring himself to listen to carefully.  It’s too much effort to try to slow his racing heart, it’s all he can do as he frantically tries to figure out a way out.

The door opens below, and her voice cuts through his fear, clearing the way like a gust of wind through the fog.

“Where is he?  Where’s Hook?” Emma asks.

“He was there, right before we got dragged away,” David replies.

Killian clenches his fist, his fingers still shaking, but he forces himself to calm, forces himself to take slow breaths, until he can feel the quick thumping in his chest begin to slow.

“Everyone reappeared where they were before this whole mess started,” Emma continues.  Her voice is soft, quiet, and he can hear her uncertainty, her worry.

He pushes off the pillar and slips what he hopes looks like a grin on his face as he leans against the railing.

“Yeah, sorry about the mess,” he manages to say, his words clear despite the tremors that still shake inside himself.  She looks up at him, the panic on her face melting away as she smiles, and he feels some of his own fear slip away.  “I really needed to find that book, and I’m usually a bit tidier.”

She dashes for the steps, and he’s grateful she’s coming to him.  He’s not sure he’s ready to go down yet, to be so close to the ones who tried to kill him.  He turns toward the top of the stairs to see her flying toward him, her hair a golden blur behind her as she throws her arms around him tightly.

“Killian,” she murmurs as they fall back onto the bed, and he can’t help the laugh that slips out as she lands on top of him on the soft blankets, and she giggles in his ear.  He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her so happy, so relaxed, so relieved.

She sits up slightly and links her hand in his, and he realises his fingers are finally, _finally_ , still.

“How many times do I have to tell you, love?  I’m a survivor,” he says with a grin.  “Look, I didn’t mean to cause any panic.  I woke moments before your parents and came up here.  Is Henry…?”

“He’s fine,” she says, her hair falling around her face as she looks down at him.  “Henry’s fine.  I’m just, I’m glad you are, too.”  Her eyebrows furrow and she adds, “You are, right?  You’re okay?”

He nods, still grinning.  “Aye, as if nothing happened.”

She frowns, watching him closely.  She pulls him up by his jacket and he sits, her weight still comfortably pressed against his legs as he does.

“But it did,” she says softly, her hands moving to his chest.

He tilts his head.  “Pardon?”

“It happened,” she sighs.  “All of it.  You were hurt and you helped us and then you nearly died, more than once.  It might have been erased from reality, but it was real, to us.”

“I suppose it was,” he allows, nodding slowly.  “But there’s nothing left of it now, Emma.  Everything’s back to normal.”

“They tried to kill you,” she says, looking at him, _really_ seeing him, and he knows she’s aware of the depth of his fear.  “Killian, my father stabbed you in the back and came back to finish the job.”  She shudders, and he can see the range of emotions in her eyes, no doubt mirroring his own.

“That’s why you were up here, wasn’t it.”

He can’t hide from her, just as she never could from him, and he nods, swallowing hard.  “I know it wasn’t them,” he whispers, ashamed of his weakness once more, a feeling he thought he’d be rid of away from that infernal alternate tale.  “I know, but I can’t…”  He breaks off with a shake of his head.  This isn’t who he should be, here, this isn’t who he _could_ be, cowering in terror of something that never happened.

She reaches up to brush his hair from his face, her fingers lingering against his cheek.  “It’s okay,” she says gently.  “We can stay here as long as you need.”

He nods as he leans into her hand, his eyes closed and he just breathes, something he will not take for granted in the near future.  She’s quiet, but he can hear her thoughts.

He looks up at her, meets her gaze, and smiles gently.

“That was real too, you know” he says quietly.  Her eyes widen, she wasn’t ready, and he doesn’t want to push.  Magic or not, True Love or not, she’s all that matters, and after being with her in the book but not _with_ her, he’s never been so glad to see her again, regardless of what their future brings.  He could only imagine how it felt for her, with her memories intact the whole time, so close to him but so far away at the same time.

“We don’t have to talk about it, if you-”

He doesn’t see her coming.

Her lips crash into his, stealing the words from his mouth.  She’s grabbing his jacket, pulling him closer, and he hungrily returns the kiss, pouring more love than he ever thought possible into it.  His hand comes up to hold her head, one of hers is reaching behind his neck, threading through his hair in the back and sending tremors of a completely different kind through him.  He missed this, missed _her_ , the softness of her lips, the feel of her hair through his fingers, the press of her nose against his as they pulled apart for air, her forehead resting against his, breath mingling in the space between, neither of them unwilling to be apart for even the slightest moment as they recover.

He never wanted to push, and in the end, he didn’t have to, the words slipping from her mouth quietly as they sit on her bed.

“I love you, Killian.”

The air leaves his lungs, he’s unable to draw in more, but it’s a different feeling than what he painfully experienced all too recently.  This time, the tears that fill his eyes aren’t from desperation, but a different sort altogether.  He gasps, breathing as deeply as he can before letting it out in a stuttered sigh.

“I love you, Emma.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews?


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